Winging It
by Rae Roberts
Summary: AU based on Supernatural episode 5:04 'The End'. Dean's attempt to kill Lucifer with the legendary Colt pistol goes horribly wrong, but a resurrected Castiel manages to save both their lives with an unorthodox plan B. Can these two share a body, rescue Sam from Lucifer, and save the day without driving one another insane? Destiel. Rated T for the duration.
1. Chapter 1

"Dean. Dean, listen to me."

Dean groaned and flung an arm over his eyes to shield them from the light.

"Dean. _Dean_." Castiel's voice was urgent. He grabbed Dean's wrist and tugged his arm away from his face.

"Ow! What the hell, Cas?" Dean sat up in bed, yanking his arm out of Castiel's grasp. Garish, blood-red roses bloomed on the wallpaper, each as big as his head. They provided the only color in the motel room. The furnishings, the draperies over the window, the bedding tangled around him, even the carpet on the floor, everything was white.

"What the hell?" he repeated. Who put down white carpet, much less white carpet in a cheap motel? Dean tried to remember the details of the case he and Sam had been working on. What city was this, anyway? And where was Sam? His mind felt sluggish, his memories cloudy.

"Dean. You have to focus."

"This is Kansas City, right? Damn." He sat up, pulling the blanket around his shoulders. "The heat in this dump must be broken. It's cold," he complained. His body felt numb.

Castiel grabbed him by the shoulders. His face loomed in, blue eyes intense, the tip of his nose almost touching Dean's.

"Damn it, Dean. Listen to me. You're _dying_. And yes, in answer to your query, this is Kansas City," he added solemnly.

That caught Dean's attention. That so-serious tone, so familiar, and yet, he realized, he hadn't heard it in years. Not since Cas had gone mortal. He pushed Castiel back and looked him over, taking in the rumpled suit, tie askew as usual, and all covered by the angel's trademark khaki trench coat. Typical… Except, again, Dean hadn't seen Castiel dressed like this in years.

"Wait," he pleaded, remembering what Cas had just said. His brain was still struggling to catch up. "This is Kansas City? That means—"

"Lucifer," Castiel supplied. "We came here to kill him. Or, I should say, _you_ came here to kill him. The rest of us were just a diversion."

"Sam?" Dean croaked, his voice breaking. He gripped Castiel's shoulder, the memory coming back to him in fragments of shape and color. The Colt. The garden in the courtyard of the Jackson County Sanitarium. Blood-red roses. Sam, dressed all in white.

Castiel shook his head sharply. "Focus, Dean. You didn't succeed in killing Lucifer. The Colt didn't affect him. He killed you! Or he will have, if you don't let me help you."

The roses on the wallpaper blurred, shrank, resolved into a living rose bush laden with blood-red blooms. Dean could see them, above and to the left of where he lay on the ground. There was an unpleasant sensation of pressure, making it difficult to breath: Sam's size thirteen white loafer resting on his neck.

Dean blinked, bringing Castiel's face back into focus. He was sitting beside him now on the sagging double bed. Dean wondered vaguely when he'd shifted position.

"If I'm dead, you're sure as hell dead, too." He remembered the diversion with a pang of guilt and regret. He'd knowingly sent his friends into an ambush. "We're dead, Cas. I'm sorry."

"We will be, if you don't concentrate," the angel huffed. "Let me help you, Dean. Let me save you. Say yes."

"Say yes to what? You? You going all Michael on me now? ...I'm so cold," Dean whined, hating the weak, petulant tone of his voice, but unable to stop himself. Childlike, he leaned into Cas, seeking warmth. Dean rested his head on the angel's shoulder.

"You're in shock." Castiel jostled him upright, merciless. "Damn it, Dean, say yes. My earthly body has been destroyed. I need you to be my vessel. I can heal you, if you let me in, but there isn't much time."

"You're crazy. Or I'm dreaming. Or something," Dean slurred. His head had slumped back onto Castiel's shoulder. Clumsily, he reached for Castiel's tie and gave it a weak tug, delirious now and amused by the strip of blue fabric. "You're mortal now, Cas Couldn't heal me if you tried." Dean wheezed out a laugh. "You got no mojo."

"This isn't funny. Let me try," Castiel growled, desperate. "Dean! Say yes!"

"Yeah, yeah, okay, Cas. Whatever you say."


	2. Chapter 2

"Cas. Not going to lie, man. This is freaking me out."

Dean paced around the marble-topped table. Another white room, this one ornately paneled with gilded baroque flourishes and lit by a crystal chandelier. Matching gold and crystal sconces gleamed between paintings in heavy gilded frames. Castiel sat slouched in an antique armchair upholstered in white damask, elbows on his knees. He raised his head and looked at Dean wearily.

"You chose the decor. This is your subconscious, not mine. If you don't like the view, change it. In fact, why don't you focus on remodeling? Let me concentrate on healing you."

Dean scowled at a statuette of an angel on a decorative pedestal, one of many pieces of sculpture that adorned the room. "If I'm your vessel now, how is it I'm even conscious? Or is this just some figment of my imagination?"

"You do seem to be far more aware than Jimmy Novak ever was," Castiel admitted, "but then, I shielded his consciousness for much of the time he served as my vessel."

"Yeah, but the poor bastard remembered getting stabbed and shot," Dean said dryly. Tired of pacing, he dropped down on a settee near the marble fireplace.

"Yes." Castiel nodded solemnly. "Physical trauma apparently has that effect. That would explain your current cognizance of your situation," he mused.

"My current cognizance?" Dean's eyebrows arched. "So, I say yes to being your vessel, you heal me up, and then what? You take over my body and leave my mind broken and drooling in some corner of my subconscious, is that the deal?" He stood up and prowled across the room to confront the angel, who simply looked up at him, eyes red-rimmed and shadowed with exhaustion.

"I wouldn't condemn you to such a fate, Dean, even if I had that power. But remember, you were destined to serve as Michael's chosen vessel, as your brother was ordained to be—"

"—Lucifer's." Dean concluded bitterly. "I've heard the bedtime stories. We're just wash and wear, wrinkle-free, Winchester meatsuits for archangels."

"Well, I'm no archangel," Castiel said with a trace of humor. "Look. Sit down, enjoy a hamburger and a beer. Let me focus on saving your life."

Dean turned and saw a golden platter of paper-wrapped take-out burgers materialize on the table in the center of the room. Beer bottles beaded with condensation rested in a crystal bowl of crushed ice. He scowled at the additions. They wavered for a moment, shimmering like a heat mirage, then disappeared.

"Maybe you shouldn't save my life, Cas. Is it really worth saving? You said it yourself, once: you can see inside me. Nothing but pain. Guilt, anger, confusion... Maybe it's time to just let it all go." Dean turned back to the angel, huddled in his rumpled trench coat. "I failed. I couldn't kill Lucifer." He drew in a deep breath, accepting it. "It's over, Cas. Just let it go. Let me die," Dean told him, resigned. "Let me be at peace."

Castiel pushed himself out of the chair and crossed the space between them. He stopped just inches away from Dean, as if everything he'd ever learned about boundaries and personal space had been forgotten.

"I remember that conversation. You told me to take my peace and shove it up my ass." He gripped the front of Dean's coat in his fists, pulling him in even closer. "Quit your whining," Castiel said fiercely, eyes locked on his. "I'm doing this."

"Not without my consent," Dean retorted, just as fierce. Just as stubborn. "I failed, didn't you hear me? I don't want to be saved! I changed my mind."

"It's too late for that, Dean. You gave your consent." Blue eyes bored into hazel, unblinking.

Dean glared right back. "I don't want to be saved," he repeated, his voice a low, harsh growl. He knocked Castiel's hands away. "I take it back."

The angel's eyes flashed righteous anger. "It doesn't work that way. Once a vessel gives his consent, it cannot be revoked."

"Oh yeah? Watch me." Dean's hands had clenched into fists during the exchange, his stomach tightened into a knot. He gathered that ball of tension, that anger and confusion, and thrust it outward, leveling the white paneled walls. Crystal, marble, carved and gilded wood exploded into sparkling shards and Castiel was blown back, out of the ruined jewel box of a room.

Dean's consciousness slammed back into his body. The impact knocked the air from his lungs. Stunned, he couldn't move, couldn't breathe. Cold. So cold he ached, and yet, he burned, too, every nerve on fire with pain. He was lying on the ground in the unkempt, overgrown garden. To his left, the Colt lay discarded. He tried to stir, to lift his head, to move his hand and pick up the weapon. Nothing, not even a twitch. His body was paralyzed.

Darkness closed in, his vision fading, narrowing, nothing visible but a rose, red as blood, blooming brightly at the far end of the tunnel. His chest ached, lungs burning, but he couldn't summon the strength to draw a breath. He couldn't scream. Couldn't move. The rose faded, withered. Died. He couldn't see. Red light faded to black.

Castiel! Cas! ..._Cas!_

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><p><em>Author's note: Thank you so much to <em>Becca_ and _MadWithMusic_ for the kind reviews! I really appreciate the encouragement. Thank you also to those who followed/favorited this story. _


	3. Chapter 3

"Cas?"

"I'm here, Dean."

Dean opened his eyes. He was lying in a hospital bed. An intensive care unit, judging by the wires and tubes and the assortment of softly whirring and hissing machines surrounding him. He turned his head with an effort and focused blearily on Castiel, sitting bedside in a vinyl upholstered easy chair.

"Cas." His voice broke. "How? I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move."

"You prayed. I answered." Cas laughed, a faint, weary huff of breath. "Consent was implied. Are you going to eject me again?"

Dean fumbled for the controls, adjusting the bed to raise his head. "No, man. No. My mistake. Go ahead and be my co-pilot." He paused, drawing in a shaky breath. "Cas, how am I even alive?"

"I died," Castiel stated, matter of fact. "And was resurrected, apparently. My vessel had been cut down by demon-delivered semi-automatic weapon fire. And shortly after, torn apart by Croats. It was no longer suitable for my habitation," he concluded dryly.

"My god, Cas. I'm sorry—" Dean sank back against the crisp, antiseptic hospital pillowcases as another wave of remorse left him dizzy, but Castiel cut him off.

"I left the ambush, looking for you, and arrived just as Lucifer snapped your neck and walked away. I stopped time," he concluded. "You consented to be my vessel in the fraction of a second before death."

"You stopped time." Dean was dumbfounded. "I didn't know you could do that. So, what? You've got your grace back? What's going on with the rest of the Heavenly Host?" he asked with sudden sympathy. "You've been out of touch for a long time."

"I don't know." Castiel leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. His hands rested on the arms, limp.

Dean waited impatiently. "What do you mean, you don't know? Have you got your mojo back or not? Cas! I'm a mess, here." He indicated the array of medical paraphernalia he was hooked up to. "Outside, I'm lying on the bare ground. Paralyzed. I'm not sure I'm even still breathing. Cas..." Dean lowered his voice. His lip curled in disgust. "I'm pretty sure I, um, shit myself," he confided, embarrassed.

"You're at the brink of death, Dean." Castiel's eyes opened only to glare daggers at him. "Your every bodily function is on the verge of shutting down completely. And that was before you pulled that stunt and revoked your consent to be my vessel."

"Hey, I said I was sorry."

Angel and hunter both leaned back and rested in silence for a time. Dean felt himself drifting off, but the persistent beep of a monitor kept pulling him back into wakefulness. Huffing in annoyance, he opened his eyes and stared at the acoustic-tiled ceiling. White, like the walls, the scratchy hospital sheets, the curtain that surrounded the bed.

"This sucks." He lifted the covers to peer down at the white cotton hospital gown. Dean huffed again. It was one of those too-short models with the fasteners up the back that always gapped open. Even worse, "Goddamnit, Cas! A catheter? You couldn't leave me with a scrap of dignity?"

"This is your subconscious, Dean. Not mine. This is every soap opera and over-wrought medical drama you ever watched on television," Castiel sighed.

"...Oh. Touché." Dean ripped the IV from his arm and unhooked the oxygen cannula from his nostrils, casting the tubing aside. After a moment, he focused his mind and the remaining medical equipment disappeared. Dean pushed back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up to face Castiel. The hospital gown had been replaced by a white t-shirt and pale blue cotton pajama pants.

"Cas, I'm grateful you came back for me, I am. I don't want to be a douche. I'm just hoping for some answers, here. We're in a hot zone. You got enough juice to handle that? Maybe, I don't know, zap us someplace safe?"

"I am expending everything I have just to keep you alive." Castiel ran a hand through his hair, leaving the dark strands sticking up in every direction. "I don't know the extent of my grace, if it's even enough to heal you. I seem to still be cut off from heaven. I don't know who resurrected me, or for what purpose. I'm afraid, Dean." His hands fell from the armrests to clench in his lap.

"I was lost—human—for so long, I gave up hope. But now? I have hope again, and it frightens me. I hope it was my Father who brought me back. I hope I can heal you, Dean. I hope I can find redemption. But what if I can't? What if I let you down again? What if I let my Father down? I'm so afraid." His eyes were wide, shadowed and haunted.

"No, Cas, no. You never let me down. Don't even think that." Dean stretched his hands out, reaching for the angel's shoulders. Castiel's fear and distress sent a pang through his chest, an actual physical sensation of pain. In an instant, they'd switched places, Cas perched on the edge of the bed, Dean seated in the bedside chair. Dean stood and started tugging Castiel's sleeve, helping him out of his rumpled trench coat. Underneath, the angel now wore a t-shirt and pajama pants. Dean eased him back against the pillows, drawing the covers up over him.

"It's going to be okay, Cas, I promise. We'll figure it all out. You just get some rest. You look beat to hell," he said gruffly, absently brushing Castiel's hair back from his forehead.

Castiel let Dean position him in the bed, closing his eyes and snuggling into the pillows like a child. "I can see into your memories," he murmured. "This is a ritual you used to perform for Sam when you were little children." His head tilted, almost as if he was listening to angel radio. "Humans call this...Tucking in?"

"Okay, well, today was a little intense. For both of us. So yeah, I'm tucking you in. Just instinct, I guess," Dean countered, defensive. It figured being a vessel would involve some sort of creepy Vulcan mind-meld crap.

"There's a .357 snubnose revolver under the pillow," Castiel said drowsily. "And a circle of rock salt around the bed."

"My subconscious is a paranoid place," Dean admitted with a chuckle.

Castiel's eyes opened and met his, as trusting as a child's. "I feel safe here," he said solemnly.

"That's the point. Now you get some shut-eye," Dean ordered. The angel took him literally, closing his eyes again.

Dean sprawled in the bedside chair, adjusting it so he could prop his feet on the hospital bed mattress. Covering himself with Castiel's trench coat, he closed his eyes, preparing to follow his own advice. Outside, somewhere in Kansas City, his body lay broken, unprotected in the middle of a hot zone, tied to life by the thread of a fallen angel's grace. And there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. So why worry?

"'Night, Cas."

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><p><em>Author's note: Thanks to nani'anela for the sweet review. I was going to stick to a posting schedule of one chapter per week, but I was fairly happy with how this one turned out and decided to post it up while I still felt good about it. ;) Hope you enjoyed reading it. <em>


	4. Chapter 4

"Cas? Is that you? Or is this some kind of 'go toward the light' scenario?"

"I'm here, Dean. I sense your concern," the angel added.

"Yeah? Well, how about an update?" Dean shielded his eyes from the brilliance. White. Pure, perfect white, like fresh snow. Honestly, the color scheme was getting a little old.

"I believe Doctor Sexy would classify your condition as critical but stable."

"It's not like I watched that show all that often." Dean squinted. He could almost swear he detected a smirk somewhere inside that eye-searing glow. He looked down at himself. He was lying on more of the same snowy white. It _was _snow, he saw, sitting up and dusting it off the front of his old, olive-drab canvas jacket. If he focused, he could see the individual flakes. Each tiny, six-sided crystal. Not just the ones clinging to his clothing, either, but every single snowflake in every snowdrift, stretching for miles across the wilderness. Dean blinked and looked down the mountainside, taking in the sheer, ice-covered cliffs, the tumble of stone that softened into snow-blanketed foothills, the rolling plains beyond. Something moved out there in the distance, past the swift-rushing torrent of a glacier-fed river.

"Is that"—Dean did a double-take—"Is that a wooly mammoth? That's a wooly mammoth," he told the brightly-glowing light. "So... I'm, ah, guessing this is your subconscious?"

"This is a portion of my consciousness, yes," Castiel voice came from where the light shone brightest.

"It's a little overwhelming. Like looking through binoculars and a microscope at the same time." Dean pressed the heels of his hands against his eye sockets. When he looked again, Castiel was seated beside him in his familiar Jimmy Novak persona, dark hair sticking up messily and blue tie askew as usual. The angel still gave off a faint glow. Like a nightlight, Dean thought, amused, and turned his attention back to the scenery. There was no horizon; he could see for miles, and then miles beyond that. A saber-toothed cat drank from the river, each whisker visible with perfect clarity. Dean could smell the animal's musk, hear its tongue as it lapped up the water, the river current flowing over the rocks, the wind rustling in each individual blade of grass. It was dizzying, overwhelming. He took several slow, cautious breaths, consciously dialing back his senses before they overloaded.

"I'm quite fond of the late Pleistocene," Castiel said. "I find it soothing…Well, if you discount the violent predator-slash-prey interactions."

"Circle of life," Dean said philosophically before continuing his questioning. "Does critical but stable mean we can get me up and moving soon? It's been, what? A couple of days now, right? I mean, forget wandering Croats, there's exposure, dehydration…" He trailed off, looking to Castiel for answers.

The angel smiled, radiating peace and calm. "My grace is sufficient to sustain you, Dean."

"What does that mean? You got enough mojo to get us back in the game, here, or what?"

"You know, we weren't sure at first which monkeys were going to make it," Castiel mused, looking out across the plains to where a small band of prehistoric humans was stalking after the mammoth.

Dean knew that if he focused in he'd be able to see every detail of the crude animal-hide garments the hunting party wore, the rough spears they carried. He'd be able to count every individual hair on their heads, if he wanted to. He closed his eyes, feeling the start of a pounding headache. His human brain wasn't built to handle an angel's perceptions.

"No offense," Castiel rambled on, "but I was backing the Neanderthals because their poetry was... just amazing. It's in perfect tune with the spheres." He sighed appreciatively. "But in the end, it was you. The _homo sapiens sapiens_. You guys ate the apple, invented pants."

"Okay, Cas, what's your point?" Dean scowled at Castiel's profile. "Now that we've taken this little field trip back to the beginning of humanity, we can go back and watch the end, is that it?" He clenched his fists in frustration. "I get it. Lucifer. Croatoan. We're just circling the drain, now." Dean closed his eyes again, feeling the raw ache at the back of his throat, the prickle of heat behind his eyelids that warned of tears. "You know, what I don't get is why you didn't just bring back Jimmy," he rasped. "A few bullet holes and Croat bites can't be any harder to fix up than a severed spinal cord."

"Jimmy Novak had already been brought back from death once before to serve as my vessel. I thought it was time to allow his soul to rest in peace," Castiel said simply.

"And I don't deserve peace, Cas? It's not enough that every last person I ever cared about is dead? I've got to watch Lucifer wipe out all of humanity, while that bastard wears my brother's face?"

"No. Of course not."

Castiel's light flared up, pure and strong and so bright Dean could see the glow even from behind his closed eyelids. He felt Castiel's hand on his shoulder only as an initial point of contact, warmth and angelic resolve flowing out from that human touch to surround his entire being.

"I do not know why I was resurrected a second time, Dean, but I cannot accept that it was intended as a punishment. Nor was it my intention in choosing you as my vessel to make you suffer. I have to believe I'm being given a second chance. That _we_ have been offered a second chance." Castiel turned Dean to face him.

Dean opened his eyes, finding he could meet Castiel's gaze in spite of the celestial light spilling out and surrounding them both.

"Tell me, Dean. What would you do if you had a second chance?"

He didn't hesitate. "I'd go back and save Sam. You know that's what I'd do, Cas. I'd hunt Lucifer down like the monster that he is and get my brother back."

The angel nodded solemnly. "Then that is what we will do," Castiel promised him. "Together."

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><p><em>Author's note: I owe series writer Ben Edlund for Castiel's comments about the Neanderthals. I also owe many thanks to <em>nani'anela_ and _MadWithMusic_ for their reviews. Thanks for the encouragement!_


	5. Chapter 5

"Now that's what I'm talking about." Dean sat up and looked around, grateful to be conscious again. The garden was just as he remembered it, weedy, overgrown, and deserted. In his mind's eye he could picture an aerial map of the surrounding Kansas City streets with the location of every Croat within a mile radius. Having an angel on reconnaissance detail was a definite advantage, he had to admit. He reached over and picked up the Colt, tucking it into an inside pocket of his field jacket. The legendary gun couldn't kill Lucifer, but it was lethal to damn near everything else. Dean wasn't about to let it go.

Standing up, he stretched, cautiously at first, then luxuriously, rolling his neck, his shoulders, and cracking his lower back.

"Cas, you done good," Dean said, appreciative. His muscles ached, a souvenir of lying motionless on the ground for forty-eight hours or more while Castiel had worked to save his life. He'd take it, Dean thought philosophically. He was alive. He could move. He could fight, if he had to. Cas really had done a standout job.

_There would be no residual pain if you would just allow me to shield you from it, _Castiel's voice inside his head huffed.

"It's okay. I'd rather have a few aches and pains and keep my melon intact," Dean said dryly. He still wasn't sure how this was going to play out, serving as Castiel's vessel. Now that he'd regained consciousness, the angel's presence inside his mind was disconcerting. Familiar, almost comfortingly so, yet alien and strange at the same time. Shrugging off the sensation for the time being, he started around the side of the building, walking back to where they'd parked the vehicles what felt like a lifetime ago. It was true in a way, Dean reflected. He was no longer the same man who had planned the doomed raid on Lucifer's hideaway.

For one thing, he had an angel fighting him for the driver's seat. "Could you dial it back a little, Cas? You might like walking like you've got a stick up your ass, but that's not my style. Back off," Dean ordered.

_Your body is still weak, Dean. It may take days, still, before my grace can heal you completely. Just relax and allow me—_

"No. I'm driving." Dean cut the angel off. "Come on, Cas, you're making me look like a nerd."

_I know how to 'drive', as you put it. You do recall that I was human for several years?_

"And you've been an angel for millennia, and trust me, it shows," Dean countered. "Meanwhile, I've been walking just fine all on my own since I was eight months old, so back off."

His next few steps were taken jerkily, his movements stiff and unnatural as angel and vessel argued internally over control of their shared body.

"Damn it, Cas!"

_Damn it, Dean! _ Castiel's growl of frustration echoed inside his mind.

Dean stood, feet locked in place on the cracked, weed-choked pavement, every muscle clenched as he and Castiel struggled. He felt a final surge of exasperation, heard a flutter of wings, and then the angel was gone. Castiel had vacated his vessel, and Dean was left feeling suddenly, utterly alone.

Alone, and weak as an invalid. Clearly Cas had been shielding him to some extent all along. He staggered over to lean against the rough stone wall of a building as his stomach churned with nausea, his vision blurred and his mouth went dry. Dean bent over, hands braced against the wall, and took shallow breaths, trying not to vomit as above him every window in the building shattered, shards of glass exploding outward and raining down to cover the street with glistening fragments, sparkling in the late afternoon sun.

"Oh, that's real mature," he rasped, eyes shut tight as another wave of dizziness raised bile into his throat. Castiel's retort was a piercing shriek that rattled the empty window frames and left Dean on his knees, hands clamped desperately over his ears. He screamed back against the battering assault of pure noise, a wordless howl of defiance.

The sound stopped, leaving his ears ringing. Dean dropped his hands to the pavement and started to dry heave. Then the burning in his throat eased, the nausea disappeared, the ringing silenced. The angelic presence was back, a fact that actually relieved Dean. He wasn't so sure he liked that reaction. Shaking his head to try and clear it, he scrambled to his feet.

_Dean. I apologize. _

Castiel's voice inside his mind was stiff, contrite but tense. Dean could sense the angel's conflicting emotions. Confusion, frustration. Embarrassment and wounded pride.

_I am not accustomed to having to negotiate with my vessel_.

"Yeah, well, I ain't no ordinary vessel, so you'd better get used to it." Dean bristled at the implied ownership, but he could feel Castiel's sincere remorse amid the turmoil of the angel's feelings. His voice softened. "You want to try again?"

_You may drive._ In his mind's eye Dean saw Castiel nod solemnly. _I will continue to fly reconnaissance. _

"Now we're getting somewhere." _  
><em>

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><p><em>Author's note: Special thanks to <em>nani'anela_ and _Olivia Crane_ for leaving such nice reviews! I was really doubting myself this week, thinking this story was just too weird to have any appeal at all, so your words of encouragement were very much appreciated. _


	6. Chapter 6

"So, you're riding shotgun in my brain, huh?" Dean glanced over at Castiel as he drove. They'd retrieved the best of the vehicles and loaded it with whatever weapons and gear they could gather up before starting the drive back to Camp Chitaqua.

"My current manifestation is a projection of your subconscious mind. An attempt to rationalize our metaphysical union," Castiel offered.

"Metaphysical union? Sounds like one of your old hippie love guru pick-up lines," Dean groused.

"You must admit, I have succeeded in getting into your pants, Dean." Castiel's delivery was deadpan.

"Oh, that's just hilarious." Dean rolled his eyes. The street ahead looked clear, but Dean made a left turn, steering the SUV cautiously around a couple of burnt-out, overturned vehicles. Thanks to Castiel, he knew the route he'd taken was a better way to avoid the horde of Croats shambling through the area.

"I appreciate the angel GPS, Cas, but how are you scouting ahead and riding shotgun at the same time?"

"It only takes a small portion of my grace to expand my senses," Castiel said, dismissive.

Dean thought about that. Castiel was wearing _him_ now, not Jimmy Novak, but Dean's brain still pictured Cas with Jimmy's rumpled suit and messy black hair. Because imagining himself sharing the cab of the SUV with… Himself? Yeah, that was just too weird. And then there was the scouting Cas was doing at the same time, reaching out with his senses and projecting the information back—

"Like an aerial map," Castiel finished his unspoken thought for him. "Of course, I would prefer to literally fly reconnaissance instead," he added.

Dean picked up a brief but vivid impression of flight. A rush of cool air and warm sunlight on his face. Weightlessness. Feelings of freedom and joy. The muscles of his back and shoulders flexing with each powerful beat of his wings.

"Go ahead," he shrugged, not wanting to deny the angel something he so obviously enjoyed. "Knock yourself out."

"It's too soon." Castiel smiled serenely at him. "But when your body is fully healed, I will take you flying."

"No thanks, Cas." Dean chuckled ruefully. "You go on ahead, whenever you feel like it. I'm good." He slowed the SUV to navigate around still more abandoned vehicles, bumping over a curb to drive with two wheels on the sidewalk in a spot where the street was almost impassable.

"Ah, yes, your fear of flying."

Memories of the blessedly few airplane flights he'd suffered through sprang unbidden into Dean's mind. His palms on the steering wheel were suddenly clammy. His mouth, by comparison, was bone dry. Pulse racing, breath quick and panicky, for a moment he felt overwhelmed.

"You know, I don't think it's the phobia so much as your inability to trust," Castiel went on.

"Hey," Dean interrupted roughly, "you think you could maybe stop poking around inside my brain?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you." Castiel looked contrite.

Dean's physical symptoms disappeared quickly as the memories receded. "Just don't let it happen again," he said gruffly, embarrassed to have Castiel witness his anxiety. "While we're on the subject, Cas, let's set some boundaries. No reading my mind."

"I will try to be more subtle."

"Not good enough." Dean shook his head. "We're sharing a body, I get that. But I'm not sharing my brain. You don't get to poke around in there."

"I'm not doing it on purpose. Your thoughts are very… Loud," Castiel complained. "I cannot help but be aware of them."

"What the hell, Cas?" Dean was appalled. He drove faster as they reached the highway, swerving recklessly around the obstacles that littered the way out of the city. "I didn't give up my right to privacy when I said yes to being your vessel." There were thoughts in his brain he didn't want to share with anyone, much less an angel.

"I'm sorry, Dean. That seems to be the nature of the bond. It can't be helped."

"Yes it can," he argued. "It's got to be." Dean pushed back, stretching his own consciousness into Castiel's, searching out the angel's thoughts.

"Stop that, Dean."

"Not so fun when you're on the receiving end, huh?" The SUV slowed to a safer pace as he focused on finding some memory or emotion that would convince Castiel to stick to his own side of their skull. Cas's thoughts were a confusing jumble. The angel was one hell of a multi-tasker, Dean realized. Here was the aerial reconnaissance map, stretching miles farther in every direction than the ones Cas had shared with him. Here were the readouts of a dozen medical devices and monitors, his own mind's attempt to make sense of the portion of Cas's grace that was still working on healing him. Here were Cas's memories of being human, and all the turmoil of emotions associated with it. And here was more. So much, much more. Dean felt as if a chorus of jackhammers were tearing into his skull.

_Dean, stop. Please._

_Can't help it, Cas,_ he flung the angel's words back at him. _That seems to be the nature of the bond. _Defiant, Dean ignored the fierce ache trying to split his skull in two and forced his way deeper. He felt a moment of triumph as he broke through the surface clutter and plunged fully into Castiel's consciousness. Down, down, deeper and deeper, until he was lost in the sheer extent of the angel's mind. Dean couldn't even begin to process it. He was nothing but a tiny speck in a vast ocean. A wave rolled over him, taking him under, sweeping him away into oblivion.

But only for a moment. Dean felt pressure, a warm, insistent presence surrounding him. In his mind's eye he imagined a giant hand gripping him tight and raising him from the depths. His consciousness returned to his own body slowly, like waking from a dream. Or a three-day bender, he thought dryly. His head ached viciously. Dean's muscles felt slack, and it took a while for him to realize that his eyes, though unfocused, were still on the road, his hands on the steering wheel. Castiel was in the driver's seat. Dean felt a wild urge to laugh, thankful that Cas had learned to drive during his tenure as a human.

"I tried to warn you." Castiel spoke with Dean's voice, brusque and gravelly with concern. "Your human mind is no more equipped to view my inner thoughts than your eyes are to view my true visage."

_Lesson learned_, he admitted. _Cas, you're— You're awesome._ For once, Dean used the word in its traditional sense of inspiring reverence.

"Yes," Castiel agreed simply. "I hope I did not frighten you."

_Dude. Of course I was frightened. I'm not a complete idiot._ He'd felt so very, very small and utterly overwhelmed, drowning in the vastness of the angel's mind.

"Oh." Castiel sounded bereft. "I never desired for you to fear me."

Dean felt a hollow ache form in his chest. Castiel's sorrow and regret, he realized as a memory sprang into his mind. The interior of an empty warehouse scrawled with talismans and traps from every religion Bobby Singer had ever researched. Bobby and Dean blasting Cas with rock salt shots. Dean stabbing the demon-killing blade into Cas's chest.

_Hey, hey, that wasn't fear. That was, uh, caution. You have to remember, Cas, we had no idea what you were or what you wanted, _Dean protested_. _

He felt his own head bow as Castiel nodded, accepting his explanation. "And now?"

_You're one scary, badass angel_, Dean began with an inward chuckle, offering Cas his own memories of friendship and loyalty, _but you're_ my _badass angel. I'm not scared. Never scared of you, Cas._

"I'm glad, Dean."

The pain in his chest went away and his headache eased as they left the city behind.

"Hey, Cas?" Dean spoke out loud. He flexed his fingers tentatively on the steering wheel.

Castiel appeared beside him. "Yes, Dean. Your turn to drive."

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: ZOMG Soooo many thanks to my triumvirate of reviewers<em> nani'anela, MadWithMusic_, and_ Olivia Crane. _Seriously, your reviews are like a vintage Impala full of pie! ...And shotguns, of course._

_Next chapter will take place back at Camp Chitaqua. Dean, apparently the only survivor of the Kansas City raid, will have to 'fess up to Chuck about Cas's whereabouts. Plans will be hatched to save Sam, but can Castiel and his reluctant vessel work together to pull off a rescue? Tune in to the next update to find out. _ ;)


	7. Chapter 7

"Sorry about that, Dean."

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, scattering droplets of holy water. "It's all right. Don't apologize for doing your job, Jane."

The other guard was peering down the road through the trees, looking for more headlights. They'd taken three vehicles on the Kansas City raid. Dean caught the man's questioning look as he climbed back into the driver's seat of the lone SUV and shook his head.

The gate guards must have radioed ahead. Dean parked the vehicle and was almost instantly surrounded by a huddle of survivors as he stepped down.

"The Colt was a bust," he told them, keeping his voice steady with an effort. "I shot Lucifer. He didn't even flinch."

_The Colt would not have worked even if you had been able to shoot to kill, Dean. You must not blame yourself for its failure. _

He mentally brushed off Castiel's reassurance. He'd believed he could kill the devil, but when it came down to it, he couldn't bring himself to shoot his brother. Dean knew Cas was right; Lucifer couldn't be killed by the Colt, but he still felt ashamed. He'd led good people to their deaths, people who had trusted him to do whatever had to be done. He'd betrayed them.

"Hunter, Risa, and Cas went in the front as a diversion, so I could get to Lucifer," Dean went on, looking around the lamp-lit ring of faces. They deserved to know the truth, or as much of the truth as he could give them. "It was a trap. They didn't have a chance."

"Then how is it you made it back okay, if the whole thing was a set-up?"

Dean felt the survivors' eyes on him, their grief and betrayal triggering a fresh wave of shame and remorse. He'd been so sure the suicide mission would be worth it, sure enough to sacrifice their friends without a second thought. How had he strayed so far off course?

"Lucifer didn't see me as enough of a threat to even bother with," he said gruffly. Lucifer had crushed him under his heel. The metaphor hadn't been lost on Dean. He had no more significance to the Morning Star than an insect.

_They're in such pain._

Dean's body tensed abruptly, shuddering with the effort of holding Castiel back. He could feel the angel's intent focused on a little cluster of three women clinging to one another as they processed the bad news.

_I need to go to them, Dean. I need to comfort them. _

_Bad idea, Cas. I'm the reason they're hurting,_ Dean reminded him. _You can't dole out hugs with my body. It would just creep them out._ He couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief when Castiel backed down. A few of the survivors were giving him strange looks.

_You really did care about your groupies, huh? _Dean caught Chuck Shurley's eye in the small crowd. Out loud he said, "Chuck. We need to talk. My cabin in five."

* * *

><p>"So, wait, you're saying Cas is inside you right now?" Chuck's forehead, already creased with habitual worry lines, wrinkled even more as Dean explained the situation.<p>

"Jeez, Chuck, could you make it sound any more wrong?" Dean groaned. He would have gone on, but Castiel broke in.

"Yes, Chuck, I am here. Taking Dean as my vessel was the best of the limited options available to us."

Chuck's eyes widened. He blinked rapidly, trying to take it all in. "You're telling me Dean actually consented to this, Cas?"

"Of course." The angel inclined his head. "I could not have without—"

"I'm right here," Dean interrupted. The transition wasn't a smooth one. Castiel's solemn nod ended with an abrupt jerk as Dean raised his chin, a stubborn expression settling over his features. "I can speak for myself, Chuck."

"Good," a new voice said. "Then you can tell us both what the hell's going on."

All three men turned, Chuck startled, Dean wary, and Castiel simply accepting. Annie Hawkins stood framed in the doorway, a tray of food in her hands.

"Thought you might be hungry," she smiled sweetly for a moment before giving Dean a pointed look. "Also thought you might be hiding something from the rest of the grunts."

"Go ahead and tell her," Dean ordered Chuck. He reached eagerly for the tray, which Annie handed over, looking amused as he grabbed the spoon and took a seat, digging into the steaming bowl. It was some sort of stew made of vegetables, no doubt from looted canned goods. There was meat, too, giving off a mouthwatering aroma. Probably venison, Dean thought, though at this point it could have been roadkill for all he cared.

_Your body no longer requires nourishment to sustain it,_ Castiel reminded him.

_Dude. I'm starving. I haven't eaten in like, three days,_ Dean protested. The thought that his stomach probably wouldn't appreciate the sudden onslaught was the only thing stopping him from inhaling the meal in seconds. He forced himself to actually chew the next bite before swallowing.

"I thought vessels didn't need to eat," Annie said. Chuck had obviously had the chance to fill her in on the situation while Dean's attention had been diverted by the meal.

"They don'—" Castiel began, spraying half-chewed food. Liquid dribbled down Dean's chin.

_Smooth, Cas. Next time, don't talk with our mouth full._

"You two have got to get it together," Chuck said, "or Annie won't be the only one suspicious."

_Annie is a shrewd woman,_ Castiel's familiar gravelly voice offered.

_Good hunter._ Dean shared the angel's sense of approval. Then an uncomfortable thought occurred to him. _Please tell me you two never..._

_No. Annie isn't the love guru groupie type. _Castiel's mental chuckle reverberated in Dean's mind.

_Thank god._ He scowled, feeling his face heat up as he tried and failed to suppress the memory of that long-ago time he and Annie had hooked up while working a case together. _Damn it, Cas, you're going to end up knowing my entire history._

"They aren't going to be able to pull it off." The hunter's voice interrupted Castiel's retort. Dean saw Chuck and Annie watching him skeptically. He realized they'd just witnessed his internal conversation with Castiel, the play of conflicting emotions showing clearly on his face.

"We should simply tell everyone the truth."

"No way, Cas." Annie gestured toward the dark panes of the cabin window. "Morale is at rock bottom out there. Dean's practically got a mutiny on his hands as it is without admitting an angel's sharing the driver's seat."

"But they all know me. Why wouldn't they trust me?" Dean could sense Castiel's hurt and confusion, sensations echoed in the pit of his stomach.

_It's not personal, Cas._

"You can't take it personally," Chuck said, unknowingly repeating Dean's reassurance. "They knew and trusted you when you were human, Cas. Angels have been the enemy for a long while now. You can't blame them for being scared."

"And they would be scared." Annie nodded agreement.

"I'm afraid you might be correct." Castiel sighed. "I will try to be patient."

Dean took over. "That's enough for now. It's late and you've got to be tired." He stood, ushering the two toward the cabin door. "Go on, get some sleep. We'll fill you in later."

"Just try not to freak anybody out," Annie warned.

Chuck nodded earnestly. "What she said."

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: So I lied about the plans. The return to Camp Chitaqua took longer than I thought. Oh well, next chapter, plans and flying lessons. <em>

_Meanwhile, thank you to_ MadWithMusic, summertime-nephilim, Olivia Crane, Kaotsu, _and_ nani'anela_ for taking the time to review. You rock my world._


	8. Chapter 8

_Your body has sufficiently recovered . We can fly now,_ Castiel told him happily.

Dean could sense the angel's excitement. He did his best to ignore the knife twist of fear in his gut. _Yeah, about that. Why do you need me, again? Can't you just, you know, stretch out your grace and fly solo? _

_That isn't flying, Dean. That's merely observation. I need my vessel for my wings to manifest here on earth. _

_But your wings are invisible, _Dean argued. _Aren't they just another part of your grace?_

They'd been back at Camp Chitaqua for two days now, avoiding the other survivors except for Annie and Chuck and working out the logistics of sharing a single body between the two of them. It had been getting easier, Dean reflected as Castiel took control, hiking them through the woods several miles from the camp. But not now. Now, the thought of flying made his mouth go dry, the palms of his hands suddenly clammy. He stumbled over a fallen branch, muscles tensing involuntarily, fighting Castiel's control and making them both flail clumsily. For a frantic instant he imagined revoking his consent, taking it all back.

_Dean. Trust me._

Castiel's calm, patient voice broke into his downward spiral of panic. Dean heard a rustling of feathers. It was his only warning before the wings sprouted from his shoulders. There was a brief sensation of resistance, his t-shirt pulling tight across his chest for a moment, and then they unfurled, stretching luxuriously to their full span. Dean staggered, his human center of gravity thrown off by the unexpected addition of angelic wings. He would have fallen if not for Castiel's quick and casual adjustment of his stance, shifting his feet and flexing the wings to balance him.

"Whoa, Cas," Dean blurted out loud. Castiel's wings were pure white as he looked over his shoulder to view them, each easily nine feet long. The muscles of his back and shoulders shifted, feeling almost alien as they flexed in ways they never had before, fanning the wings gently. Dean could feel Cas's delight, his innocent pleasure in the warmth of the sun on his feathers, the breeze wafting through them, the delicious sensations of strength and power and completeness. Castiel had been without his wings for so long, Dean realized with a pang. And the angel didn't truly feel whole without them.

_Aw, Cas, they're freakin' amazing. _ Tentatively, he exerted control, curving one of them forward so he could examine it. The feathers had an iridescent sheen, throwing off shimmers of blues and greens wherever the sun hit them. If he stretched his own senses into Castiel's, Dean could see beyond the visual spectrum. Tiny rainbows played across the surface of each individual feather, dazzling him with every subtle shift of the wing. He drew back before the inevitable heachache got too bad, relying on his own human eyesight to examine one of the flight feathers. Soft and fluffy-looking from a distance, up close Dean could see the tiny barbs, each interlocking with the one next to it. He smoothed a hand over it, marveling at the strength and flexibility.

A shiver ran down his spine, though whether that reaction was his or Cas's, Dean couldn't tell because Castiel had already twitched the feather out of his grasp, sweeping the wings back with that familiar rustling sound.

_They _are _generally invisible,_ he confirmed, _but they are very real. My wings are the physical embodiment of my grace here on this earthly plane. Without my vessel—without_ you, _Dean—they cannot manifest._

_Great. That's… Really great, Cas._ Dean tried to summon up some enthusiasm for Cas's sake, but his jaw clenched and his eyes squeezed shut as he felt the ground drop out from underneath him. There was a strong scent of pine, a quick, uncomfortable scratchiness of branches brushing past his body, and then they'd broken free of the canopy, rising higher and higher into the empty air. Castiel didn't seem concerned that he was flying blind, a realization that only increased Dean's fear. He forced himself to crack his eyes open, catching a glimpse of blue, vast and terrifying. He clenched them shut again.

_Relax, Dean. We have plenty of space up here,_ Castiel reassured him.

_That's what I'm afraid of,_ he gritted.

_I will never, ever let you fall. _ Castiel swooped and turned, looped and dove.

Dean felt the last shreds of his self-control swept away on Castiel's surge of giddy joy. _Damn it, Cas, could you take it easy?_ he demanded, hating himself for his weakness and fear, for raining on his best friend's parade, but unable to stop himself. He'd retreated into the depths of his subconscious, curled up like a baby, clinging desperately to Castiel's trench coat. _Make it stop, make it stop, please, God, make it stop. Our Cas, who art a freakin' maniac— _Speechless with terror, Dean couldn't finish the prayer.

He landed in the driver's seat of the Impala with a gasp, heart thudding painfully against his ribs as he gripped the steering wheel. The deep, bass rumble of the car's V8 engine calmed him enough to open his eyes. Dean found himself driving through a cloud, steering around the contours of the cumulus as if following a ribbon of two-lane asphalt through rolling hills. His pulse and breathing slowed to a manageable pace. He patted the dashboard. _Okay, baby, we can do this._

Castiel appeared beside him. _This isn't flying,_ he scowled.

_You're just jealous,_ Dean scoffed. He switched on the radio and Metallica's _Fuel_ blasted through the speakers. Dean pushed his foot down on the accelerator and they burst out of the cloud, driving higher and higher, scraps of nimbus trailing from the Impala's fenders.

_I am not jealous of your ridiculous macho posturing, Dean,_ Castiel scoffed back. The music cut off abruptly. _Stop it._

_Back seat driver. _ Dean gave a mental shove and Castiel was relegated to the back seat. Dean smirked at his reflection in the rearview mirror and switched the radio back on.

Castiel popped back into the front passenger seat and grabbed for the steering wheel. _You cannot fly in an automobile! Damn it, Dean!_

The Impala swerved wildly as Castiel yanked the wheel. Dean elbowed the angel in the ribs, but when that didn't deter him he cocked back his fist and aimed a punch at the side of Cas's head. It was a clumsy, glancing blow compared to Dean's usual haymakers, restricted by the limited room in the car, but Castiel let out a snarl of rage.

Space suddenly wasn't an issue any longer as the Impala dissolved into a muscle car-shaped cloud and drifted away. Dean reeled back as Cas's fist crashed into his jaw. He grabbed hold of the lapels of the angel's suit coat and headbutted him viciously. Castiel grunted in pain, then kneed Dean in the crotch in retaliation.

They plummeted, punching and cursing, oblivious in their fury until they whipped past the top branches of the trees. A mindless howl ripped from Dean's throat and he clung to Castiel, wrapping his legs around the angel's waist as he tried to climb his way up Cas's body to escape the ground rushing toward him.

Castiel unfurled his wings, his entire body straining, shuddering with effort as they fought against the pull of gravity. Dry leaves and pine needles swirled up around them as the wind of Cas's wings swept a circle of the forest floor bare.

Dean's self-awareness gradually returned. They were hovering, Castiel's wings moving at a slow, steady pace, keeping them barely aloft, the tips of the angel's toes just brushing the ground.

Dean was still clinging to his jacket, he realized with a flush of shame, his face buried against Cas's chest. Castiel's arms were wrapped tightly around him, holding him up.

"Um, Cas?" Dean squirmed against the angel's grip. "I'm okay. You can let me go now."

The angel touched down on the ground. Before Dean could get his feet under him, he felt himself go flying through the air, thanks to a completely unexpected and mighty shove from Castiel. He landed on his back on the dusty ground with enough force to knock the wind out of him.

_I promised you, Dean_, Castiel said fiercely. _I promised I wouldn't ever let you fall. _

In his mind's eye Dean could see him flop down to sit on the ground next to him, his expression sulky.

"Yeah," Dean panted after a long moment, "thanks for nothing, dick."

_Next time, trust me...Assbutt._

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: I should just give up posting teasers because obviously I fail at keeping on track. First flying lesson ran long. Cunning plans will just have to wait until chapter 9. <em>

_So I totally owe Eric Kripke for, well, lots, but most especially for Castiel's canon insult. I just couldn't see the point of trying to come up with anything better than assbutt. _

_A big round of booze and/or pie to everyone reading, following, and favorite-ing, with double helpings of pie to_ Kaotsu, Snailhair101, _and_ IDeclareATimeWar for the sweet reviews.


	9. Chapter 9

"I hate this," Dean muttered. Castiel was flying them back to the camp. Or, more accurately, Dean thought, the angel was gliding, low to the ground and so slowly it was barely faster than a jogging pace. He felt a fresh wave of shame wash over him, bitter as bile. "This is stupid, Cas. You shouldn't be grounded like this, it isn't fair."

_Be patient with yourself, Dean. Gradually, you will become desensitized to your fear._

"We don't have time for this," Dean groused, even though he knew Cas was probably right. "Every minute we waste, more people die because of me."

Castiel answered, but Dean didn't catch what he said, because suddenly there was another voice in his mind.

_Castiel? Um, we could really use you and Dean down here in camp about now…_

"Cas? What the hell was that? What's Chuck freakin' Shurley doing inside my melon?"

_Praying,_ Castiel told him matter-of-factly, as if being prayed to was a common occurrence.

Dean supposed it was, for an angel. For a human being, he thought, it was damned disconcerting.

_Chuck seems to be in even greater distress than is usual for him,_ Castiel added.

"Put the pedal to the metal. Go ahead, you heard me, Cas." Dean gritted his teeth as they gained altitude, speeding down the mountainside with powerful swoops of Castiel's wings. It took less than five minutes to fly back to camp, but to Dean, caught up in the irrational terror of his phobia, it felt like much longer. He took control the instant they landed, scrubbing a hand roughly over his face and taking a deep calming breath before stepping out from the shelter of the trees and striding across the clearing to where a crowd of survivors huddled around a couple of vehicles.

"Annie? Chuck? What's going on?"

"People are scared," Chuck muttered. "Tyler's been stirring them up, talking about possible retaliation from Lucifer. He's got about half a dozen people convinced they should leave."

A burly blond man with a scruff of beard, Tyler, had climbed up on the running board of a Humvee. "You can't make us stay here, Winchester," he called out.

"You're right. I can't." Dean spread his hands and addressed the group as they turned to face him. "Any of you that want to leave, that think you'd be safer taking your chances out there on your own, you're free to go."

_Dean…_ Castiel's voice warned in his head. Dean could sense the angel's consternation. He'd spent millennia in a garrison, part of a rigid military hierarchy. In his mind, this was mutiny.

_It's okay, Cas._ Out loud, Dean added, "Go ahead and take a fair share of weapons and supplies." It was obvious Tyler had already loaded the vehicles. They might as well part amicably, he thought. With Croats, demons, and Lucifer, human beings had more than enough enemies without picking fights with one another.

"Dean, I hope you know what you're doing," Annie murmured.

In the end, Tyler took three others with him. Less than had apparently planned to leave, but still a blow to Camp Chitaqua's little band of survivors. Dean could tell morale was low. He'd failed to kill Lucifer, and without a new direction, without some light at the end of the tunnel, people were starting to lose hope.

_Cas, I'm going to need you to bear with me. _"Okay, people," he began as the little convoy disappeared down the dirt road, "I know you're wondering what the hell's going on. The thing is, I screwed up, big time. I thought I could kill the devil, and I was willing to die to do it. I was willing to let my friends die, too. People who trusted me to do the right thing." His shoulders slumped a little as he remembered the way he'd sent Risa, Hunter, and Cas to their deaths without a second thought.

"I was wrong, and I'm sorry," Dean went on, straightening his posture and looking around the rough circle of survivors, meeting each one's eyes in turn. 'If any of you want to leave now, or after what I'm about to tell you, you take the same deal as Tyler and his people. Take what you need, and be safe out there." He waited, but everyone stood their ground.

"What's next?" One of the women, Jane, called out. "How long can we hold out here, if we can't do anything against Lucifer?"

"Maybe we can't kill him, but Cas and I are going to hurt him. We're going to hit him hard," Dean promised without thinking. Immediately, the little crowd began to stir, murmuring among themselves and shooting him looks that ranged from pity to mistrust.

_That may not have been a wise choice of words, Dean. _

_They need to know the truth._ Inwardly, Dean sighed. Admittedly, he could have thought this through a little better.

"I told you Cas died," he forged ahead, speaking over those still talking amongst themselves. "And he did... Technically. So did I, or damned close to it. Lucifer crushed me like a bug." He took another deep breath before going on, knowing his story was going to sound insane to these people who'd mostly been ordinary civilians until the Croatoan virus had been unleashed on their apple-pie world.

"Some of you know Cas used to be an angel. I'm sure a lot of you thought that was just some story he came up with." Dean couldn't help but bark a laugh, remembering Cas's eccentric love guru persona. "But it's true, and somehow, when his vessel, Jimmy Novak, bought it in Kansas City, Castiel got his mojo back. He's right here with me now," Dean said, raising his voice over the confused babble of the crowd.

_Now might be a good time to wing up, Cas. Show 'em a little display of that angel mojo, you know? _Dean rolled his shoulders, anticipating the rustle of feathers, the display of wings.

_Wings are… Private, Dean. We don't display them to just any curious or skeptical human. It simply isn't done,_ Castiel told him firmly.

_Cas. You_ fell_. It's a little late to be concerned about wing etiquette, isn't it? Come on, this is a tough crowd. I'm dying out here! _ Dean complained.

_They should have faith._ The angel was stubborn.

_Great. How about you tell them that? _Dean regretted the words the instant he'd mentally voiced them to Cas. His body twitched as Castiel took it over.

"Have faith," Castiel intoned solemnly, Dean's voice coming out of Dean's throat, but with a very different inflection. "You trusted me when I walked among you before, as a human. Why should you doubt, just because my earthly visage has changed?"

_Great, Cas,_ Dean thought dryly. _Now they think I'm completely insane._

"I believe them," Chuck spoke up.

"I do, too," Annie called out.

"So what?" a survivor named Darren challenged. "Even if we believe them, Dean's an angel condom now? Like his brother is for Lucifer? Since when do we trust angels?"

"Hey, do I look like I'm off drooling in a corner of my psyche, here?" Dean took back control and squared off against Darren, his expression belligerent. "I ain't no angel condom, buddy. Cas and I, we're in this together, a fifty-fifty split."

"He is a uniquely independent and opinionated vessel," Castiel chimed in. His intonation and body language were clearly different from Dean's, but that only seemed to make the crowd more anxious and concerned.

"I'm sorry, Dean, but it seems more likely to me that you've suffered some kind of psychotic break," a woman named Amelia said quietly. A veterinarian before Lucifer had unleashed the zombie apocalypse, Amelia was the closest thing Camp Chitaqua had to a physician.

"Their story should be easy enough to prove," Annie interrupted. "Come on, everyone here has known Dean and Cas for at least a couple of years. Question them. Just think of some detail only Dean would know about you, and see if he can recall it accurately. Same for Cas." She shrugged. "Let's get over that hurdle first. Then we can decide whether we want to trust them or not."

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: Many thanks to<em> MadWithMusic, nani'anela, _and_ Olivia Crane _for reviewing, and special thanks to_ nani'anela _for being my volunteer beta. You're the best! _

_Dean's decision to be completely honest with the survivors may have drawn things out a bit in this chapter, but I think it was a necessary step on his path to redemption. Feel free to tell me what y'all think about it. _ :)


	10. Chapter 10

"What were you two doing, anyway? You look like hell," Chuck said as they walked across the clearing. Annie had taken over, urging the survivors to file into the dining hall so they could all question Dean in relative comfort.

Dean mentally assessed the damage from his little tussle with Cas. One side of his face felt bruised, and his tongue tasted blood when he probed cautiously at his lower lip, which was sore, not to mention an assortment of other mild but annoying aches and pains.

"I'm sorry, Dean. I think I gave us a black eye," Castiel spoke up.

"Nah, pretty sure that one was on me. But the nut shot was all you," Dean grumbled. "Next time, no targeting the family jewels." He felt Castiel focus his grace and the minor injuries disappeared.

"Geez, if you two were a normal couple I'd call it abuse," Chuck said anxiously.

Dean scowled. "We're not a couple. And I don't think it counts as abuse if I throw a punch and only hurt myself."

"I believe it may actually be healthy for Dean to act out his aggression. It seems to provide catharsis," Castiel added.

"I think you're both insane."

Annie sauntered over. "Okay, Chuck, we know you're a true believer, so go sit over there with everyone else and we'll get the interrogation started," she said, shooing him away. She turned back to Dean with a smirk.

"I thought you were a true believer, too, Annie."

"Oh, I am," she purred, leaning in close.

Dean felt his face heat up as her warm breath tickled his neck. _Son of a bitch._

"So, Cas, this question is for you," Annie whispered seductively. "Can you read Dean's mind?"

"Yes. It's unavoidable," Castiel admitted, "especially when his thoughts are as loud as they are now."

"I'll just bet they are," she grinned.

It was a relief when the next person to approach was a survivor named Mikey with straightforward questions.

"Hey, Dean. You remember what was wrong with that Ford F-150 of mine?"

"Timing belt," Dean said promptly, and grinned when Mikey nodded.

"Hey, um, Cas… If you can hear me, you remember what happened when Risa sent us out to loot that Walgreen's?"

"Yes, I can hear you perfectly, Mikey. The Walgreen's run took place at the height of my recreational drug use. We got stoned on a mixture of Gabapentin and a generic brand of cough syrup," Castiel replied solemnly. "It was grape flavored, the cough syrup. And as I recall, Risa was quite annoyed with us, although we did procure the medications she had requested."

"I'll be damned." Mikey beamed, giving Dean's arm a friendly punch. He lowered his voice as if this could stop Dean from overhearing. "Hey, Cas, any time you feel like partying, you just let me know."

_Mikey never was the sharpest tool in the shed_, Dean thought dryly.

_I no longer feel an urge to indulge in drugs_, Castiel assured him. _Or fornication_, he added as another survivor approached them.

"Cas, I know you said we could all achieve transcendent shared perception, but I never thought you'd do it with Dean Winchester," she said with a hurt expression.

"Trust me, lady, he wouldn't have been my first choice, either," Dean bristled.

Castiel wrested control away from him. "Erin," he acknowledged the woman with a nod.

She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. Dean didn't blame her. Ever since his resurrection Cas had reverted back to his angelic, stick-up-the-ass mannerisms. It was a far cry from the laid-back stoner he'd been during his brief stint as a human.

"Well, I highly doubt Dean could fake knowledge of tantric yoga," Erin huffed, "so here's my question: Cas, do you remember that time we had a private session to work on balancing my kundalini energy?"

"Ah, yes. You had some concerns about opening your fifth chakra, but once I harnessed the energies of your svadhishthana the results were… Well, highly erotic," Castiel said with a serene smile.

_Cas, I feel dirty and I don't even know what the hell you guys are talking about._

_There is no need for embarrassment, Dean. Human sexuality can be a beautiful, even spiritual, experience. _

"Please, let this be a question about auto mechanics," Dean joked as Jane stepped up to take her turn interrogating them.

"Nope. Remember when you saved me from that monster that had invaded my cabin?"

Dean chuckled, relieved. "Gigantic tarantula. Put up one hell of a fight, too."

_But Tarantulas are not indigenous to this geographical region,_ Castiel protested.

_It was just a little wolf spider. Demons and zombies don't faze Jane, but she's got a bad case of arachnophobia_. Dean couldn't judge. He knew a thing or two about phobias.

"Okay, Cas, your turn." Jane batted her eyelashes, her expression suddenly coy. "What did you say to me that time we pulled gate guard duty together?"

"That you were a bad, bad little schoolgirl who deserved a spanking from the principal," Castiel recited dutifully.

Mentally, Dean groaned. _Another spiritual experience, huh, Cas?_

_It's called role-playing, Dean. Jane introduced me to the concept. She was very enthusiastic, _Castiel reminisced.

_...Great. I'm just going to go find a corner of my subconscious and curl up until your groupies are done discussing your sex life._

At long last the majority of the survivors were convinced that Dean and Cas were really both alive in the same body. In addition to answering questions, Castiel had used his grace to heal several of the group of minor injuries, giving a big boost to his credibility as an Angel of the Lord.

"So what's this plan to hit Lucifer good and hard?" Mikey piped up. "'Cause sign me up for that."

Dean let Castiel take the lead. "Our intent is to deprive Lucifer of his true vessel," the angel began. His next words were drowned out as everyone began speaking at once, some calling out questions, others arguing whether it was even possible.

"Quiet!" Castiel's voice emerged almost a full octave lower than Dean's usual deep baritone, abruptly silencing everyone.

_Good one, Cas, _Dean thought admiringly.

"Lucifer's weakness, as always, is his pride. He believes himself to be the most powerful angel on earth. Indeed, the only angel remaining on earth. He cannot conceive of anyone posing a threat to him now," Castiel went on. "Dean and I will use the element of surprise to our advantage. It may not be possible to defeat the Morning Star in angelic combat—"

_They're civilians, Cas._ Dean could feel Castiel's frustration as this pronouncement set off another babble of voices. _No smiting, okay? I'll take it from here._

"Hey!" he interrupted. "We don't have to beat Lucifer, just throw him off balance long enough for Sam to take control and kick the bastard out."

"How do you know Sam even exists anymore?" a voice carried across the room. "What if being Lucifer's vessel has fried his brain?"

"He's in there," Dean growled. "How do I know? Because I know my brother." _I've got to believe it_, he told Castiel fiercely. Dean couldn't bear the thought that Sam's mind might be gone. His thoughts, his emotions, everything that made him Sam destroyed, burnt out by the archangel. Doubt hit him like a fist to the solar plexus, stealing his breath away.

_He's in there._ Castiel's inner voice was warm with assurance, a balm to ease the pain and banish the doubt. _ I know your brother too, Dean. We will get him back._

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: So it may not be the most well-thought-out plan, but when is it ever? Please feel free to point out the flaws! Next chapter, more flying, because if they're going to take on Lucifer, Dean's got to get a grip on this phobia of his. <em>

_So many thanks for the reviews! You have no idea how they brighten my day. Thank you to_ nani'anela, Snailhair101, Zana Zira, Cerulea, _and_ Olivia Crane _for taking the time to drop a line._


	11. Chapter 11

_You are doing much better, _Castiel remarked as they descended, spiraling down through the clouds in a smooth glide.

Dean hated himself for the relief that flooded through him as they touched down on solid ground. "Maybe so, but people are still dying out there. Come on," he forced himself to say, gritting his teeth and bracing himself for another stomach-churning launch into the sky. "Let's get back up there and try again."

_Wait, Dean. I have a another idea. Since we will be fighting Lucifer, we should incorporate angelic combat into your flight training._

Dean blinked as the forest surrounding him melted away, leaving him standing on a granite outcropping high above a thick layer of mist. The rocky mesa was fairly level on top and roughly circular. Above and all around him the sky seemed to stretch out forever, azure blue and dotted with fluffy white clouds.

He heard an exaggerated cough and turned to see Castiel standing across from him. Dean swore the angel was smirking behind his hand. Jimmy Novak's signature suit and trench coat were gone, replaced by well-worn denim and Army surplus gear. The kind of clothes Cas had worn after the other angels had retreated back to heaven and he'd become human, Dean realized. Radiant white wings flexed behind Cas's back, mirror images of those flaring out from Dean's shoulders.

"Whoa. How'd you—"

"You're not the only one with an imagination." Castiel flicked his wrist and an angel sword appeared in his hand.

Frowning in concentration, Dean mimicked the gesture and a blade of his own magically appeared. He let out a low, appreciative whistle as he held it up and examined it. The sword gleamed, as shiny as chrome. Perfectly balanced, the hilt fit comfortably in his hand. The blade was wickedly sharp, Dean discovered when he tested the edge.

"Um, Cas? Not so sure live steel is a good idea. I don't want to hurt you… Me… Us."

"Relax, Dean. This is simply a training exercise. The only portion of you that will be in danger is your pride." Castiel rose effortlessly and began to circle the plateau with slow, lazy flaps of his wings. His teeth were bared in a grin that was more than a little feral.

Had he just been trash-talked by an angel? Without thinking, Dean launched himself into the air, rising up in a tight spiral, keeping Cas in his sights. "You might want to worry about your ass, 'cause it's about to get kicked," he taunted.

Dean closed the distance between them, slashing at Castiel with his sword. The angel parried his first two attempts easily, the blades clashing with an almost melodic chime. Then Dean saw an opening and swung his sword overhand in a graceless, brutal chopping motion. Seemingly caught off guard, Castiel flung up a hand to ward off the blade. Dean's eyes widened as it sliced through his palm, but the wound closed instantly, as if the blade had no more substance than the air.

And a good thing, too, he thought wildly as Cas's sword drove up under his ribcage. Dean felt an electric tingle, just a hair's breadth short of painful. Cas twisted the blade, dealing out what would obviously have been a killing blow if the sword had been real. Castiel's crystal-blue eyes, usually so innocent, were sparkling with a very uncharacteristic glee.

"You're enjoying this," Dean accused, but he couldn't keep the grin off his face. He had to admit, he was having fun, too.

"You possess a stereotypical masculine aggression and competitive drive," Castiel said as he tugged the sword free of Dean's ribcage. "I see that I was correct in assuming those traits would over-ride your irrational fear, at least temporarily." He pushed Dean away, sending him tumbling head over heels toward the granite circle below.

Dean barely stifled a stereotypical girlish scream as he fell, wings flailing uselessly in his panic. "Son of a bitch," he grunted as he slammed into the unyielding rock. He scrambled up, dusting himself off. Okay, so Cas had been right after all; his pride was hurt.

Determined to regain a little dignity, Dean stretched his wings out to their full span. As he focused on the white feathers they rapidly began to turn gray, their color deepening until both wings were a uniform shade of glossy black. Curving them forward so he could see them better, he adjusted the contours of the feathers, sleeking them and giving them a metallic sheen. Finally, Dean silvered the tip of each flight feather. When he swept the wings back the edges flashed like the chrome bumper of the Impala, reflecting the sunlight.

He launched himself back into the sky, circling Castiel, both of them with angel blades held at the ready, watching for an opening.

"You cannot alter our wings like that," the angel protested.

"Yeah? Well, I'd say I just did." Dean chuckled at Cas's bemused expression. He swooped in with a slash of his sword that Castiel batted aside negligently.

"It's...Bordering on blasphemy, Dean. If Lucifer saw them"—Castiel shuddered—"it would utterly enrage him."

"Cas. That's kind of the point." Dean darted in again and they exchanged a flurry of cuts and parries. He was completely outmatched, of course. Castiel had been flying and fighting for thousands and thousands of years. But, Dean thought, he'd also been an obedient, unquestioning servant of God for almost all of that time. Castiel, Angel of the Lord, was no match for the guile and cunning of Dean Winchester. He stabbed at Cas again with his sword, and when the angel parried Dean severed his jugular with the boxcutter he kept hidden in one boot.

"You cheated!" Castiel's eyes were wide with shock.

"I sure did. Aw, Cas." Grinning and shaking his head at the angel's naivete, Dean patted his shoulder in apology. "Here's how this is going to go: you'll be in charge of flying and swordplay. I'll handle the trash talk and the dirty tricks."

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: I promise we will get into the zombie aspect of the zombie apocalypse very soon. I just envision Camp Chitaqua as being really remote, so Dean, Cas, and company aren't bothered too much by Croats when they're there. <em>

_And whoa! Thanks to_ nani'anela, Zana Zira, MadWithMusic, _and_ Snailhair101. _I feel absolutely gleeful at the response to this story, y'all. Thanks for the feedback!_


	12. Chapter 12

"We're going to have to start hunting down demons again."

Chuck's eyebrows climbed halfway to his receding hairline and Annie was already starting to shake her head. Dean could feel Castiel's anxious questioning even before he'd finished speaking.

"Why do you say that, Dean?" Cas took over and spoke out loud for the benefit of their lieutenants.

He sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face as Cas passed control back to him. "If we're going to take on Lucifer, first we've got to find him," Dean said with exaggerated patience. "He left Kansas City. We're going to have to start questioning demons to get intel on where he is now."

"Questioning demons. You mean torturing them," Annie said bluntly.

"Hey, I don't like it any more than you do, but unless you've got a better idea…" Dean challenged.

They had gathered in the cabin that served as headquarters for the camp to go over preliminary plans. Dean could already feel his patience fraying. He stalked over to a cupboard and pulled out a half-full bottle of whiskey, a precious commodity, pouring three generous shots into mismatched glasses.

_I cannot allow you to resume torturing,_ Castiel spoke up inside his head, his voice gravelly with concern.

_Allow me, Cas?_ Dean was grateful he had kept this disagreement between the two of them, but the implication annoyed him. _I don't need your permission to do my damn job. _The thought of torture sickened him, dredging up memories of hell. The memories of his own torment and pain were bad enough. Far worse were the guilty memories of the twisted pleasure he'd taken in inflicting torture on other souls.

_Which is why you cannot,_ Castiel said, reading his thoughts. _Hell's inquisitor, Alastair, began the process of corrupting your human soul, of turning you into a demon. You couldn't help what was done to you in the pit, Dean, but I warn you, if you insist on using torture, you will be continuing the work he began in you. And you will be doing so of your own free will._

_I know, Cas. I do. But I don't see that we have much choice. It could take months to track down Lucifer again, even with demon intel, _he argued.

Dean turned to see Annie and Chuck watching his silent, internal conflict with Castiel with carefully neutral expressions. He plunked their drinks down in front of them with a scowl and took a fortifying swallow of his own, feeling the cheap liquor burn its way down his throat and into his belly.

_I will not allow it,_ Castiel growled. _You are my vessel and—_

Dean cut him off. _I may be your vessel, but that doesn't make me your property, _ he snarled back. _Discussion over. _ He moved to take a seat at the table with Chuck and Annie, but his body froze in place as Castiel battled him for control. Dean rolled his eyes.

_Are we going to have to take this outside, Cas?_

"An excellent idea, Dean."

In an instant he found himself standing once again on top of the granite mesa. The sky stretched out above and all around him, deep cobalt, cloudless, and spangled with hundreds of stars. The view would have been breathtaking if he wasn't so angry. There was a loud rustling of feathers as Castiel's wings unfurled. Dean snapped his own black wings into existence with a thought and charged, eager to vent his frustration.

Cas met him head on, literally. The angel grabbed the front of Dean's field jacket and headbutted him viciously. Half a dozen stars descended from the night sky to dance giddily in front of his eyes. Dean shook his head, trying to clear his vision. It took him a few seconds to register the deep, steady beat of Castiel's wings stirring up a miniature whirlwind around them both. The angel was ascending, dragging Dean along with him.

Belatedly, Dean remembered his own wings and fought free of Cas's grip. They squared off, circling briefly before closing again in a barrage of punches. Dean landed a solid uppercut to Castiel's jaw, snapping the angel's head back. Cas retaliated with a forward swoop of his wings, buffeting Dean's ribs with astonishing force. Those downy-soft feathers concealed twin battering rams, or so it felt to Dean. He tumbled, wings sprawled, spinning out of control.

Castiel was on him again before he could catch his breath. Dean felt an electric tingle as the angel's sword sliced open a shallow gash across his cheekbone and another along his forearm. With a flick of his wrist, he produced his own sword and frantically tried to parry. It was no use. Zap...Zing...Zap! They went brawling across the sky like an unruly comet. Dean tasted bile in his throat as his stomach protested the dizzying swoops and dives. Cas was slicing and dicing, opening phantom cuts across Dean's arms and chest as he batted aside his attempts to parry with an arrogant, negligent grace.

None of it was real, Dean reminded himself, and went on the attack, hacking clumsily at the angel with reckless disregard for his own defense. Castiel seized the opening, plunging his blade through Dean's heart, but Dean ignored the unpleasant sensation and took the opportunity to headbutt him back. He felt a second of triumph as Cas's nose broke with an audible snap and a torrent of red, but elation turned to terror as they plummeted in a tangle of wings.

He staggered and nearly fell, stomach churning, but Castiel was gripping his arms, holding him upright. Dean blinked, finding himself on solid ground. Specifically, grungy, avocado green, shag carpet-covered solid ground. They were standing in a hotel room that had been enthusiastically decorated in a bird theme sometime during the nineteen-seventies.

"You should know by now that I will never let you fall." Castiel sniffled, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his trench coat. He stepped back as Dean regained his footing.

The significance of the peacock printed wallpaper, room divider carved with silhouettes of doves, and sunburst clock became clear. This was the dream-room where he'd confronted his demonic self, the truth of what he would inevitably become in hell. Cas had saved him from that fate, a far worse fall than any physical plunge.

"I have to get my brother back. No matter what it takes," Dean took up the argument again.

"I care about Sam, too," Castiel told him sincerely, "I want him back, too, but not at the expense of your humanity."

"Because of my 'destiny'," Dean said, giving sarcastic emphasis to the word. "Because I'm supposed to be the 'righteous man', is that it?"

There was a flicker of humor in Castiel's eyes. "I am a fallen angel. I'm in no position to pass judgement on your righteousness."

Dean wasn't mollified. "Then don't try to stop me from doing what needs to be done."

"No. I cannot, because you are my vessel—"

Dean closed the space between them, his hands clenched into fists, more than ready to resume their fight. "You don't own me, Cas. You don't get to tell me—"

"Be silent!" The angel's voice rang with celestial power. "Let me finish. Because you are my vessel, and I can feel your pain." Castiel's voice softened. He moved in closer and laid a hand on Dean's chest, over his heart. "All of it, every moment you spent in hell, and every nightmare since. Oh, Dean. I would erase those memories if I could."

Dean felt the tension go out of him. "Thanks, Cas. I mean it. But no. I can't let you do that."

"I understand." Castiel nodded solemnly. "But you must understand, too. I cannot let you add to that burden. Because you are my friend, and I cannot bear for you to suffer any more pain."

He could feel Cas's emotions as if they were his own. Sadness and worry and regret. Dean could deal with those, but the sense of acceptance, the affection and just plain _caring_ that radiated from the angel, that was almost too much for him to take. He wanted to deny it, to push him away, knock his hand aside. But no, Dean thought, rejection would only confuse the angel and hurt his feelings. He suppressed a chuckle. Cas wasn't the only one who couldn't bear to witness a friend's pain.

"Okay, we'll try it your way first," he conceded. Dean reached out a hand and scrubbed it roughly through Castiel's hair, leaving it sticking up in all directions. He frowned as the affectionate gesture tangled his fingers, not in Cas's spiky black mop, but in Chuck's sandy curls. The prophet-turned-quartermaster squawked in alarm and jumped back. They were back in Camp Chitaqua HQ, Dean saw, back from whatever corner of angelic consciousness he and Cas had gone off to to settle their disagreement.

"Geez, Chuck. Personal space," he complained.

"You're the one acting creepy," Chuck countered, smoothing his hair. "You've been standing there like you were paralyzed, with a vacant expression on your face."

"Even more vacant than usual," Annie quipped.

"Cute." Dean rolled his eyes. "We were talking about finding Lucifer," he prompted, taking a seat and grabbing his whiskey glass for another drink.

"Lucifer always travels with an entourage," Chuck spoke up. "We should be able to track him down by the presence of demonic omens."

"Yeah, that was tedious but do-able back when we still had reliable news and weather reports," Dean retorted. "Not so much, now. It'll be slow going." What was left of the United States was under martial law. The Palin administration claimed to have the Croatoan outbreak contained, but they all knew that outside of the heavily patrolled safe zones, the country was in chaos.

"I believe I can augment those efforts." Castiel set down Dean's whiskey glass and spread out a map on the table. "I can scan likely locations for Lucifer's presence. I can also monitor prayers," he added.

"Prayers?" Annie said, quizzical.

"Humans are prone to pray when confronted with violent storms," Castiel explained. "Statues weeping blood also tend to incite an uncommon level of devotion."

"Huh. Makes sense," said Chuck.

"Okay. We'll focus effort on major cities from the midwest to the east coast, emphasis on Croatoan virus hot spots."

Annie nodded grimly. "Lucifer does seem to prefer to be in the thick of pain and suffering."

"When can we start this scanning idea you mentioned, Cas?"

"Immediately," Castiel said promptly.

Not needing sleep was a definite advantage, Dean thought, not for the first time. "Great. Annie, Chuck, you two can get started in the morning."

There was a rustle of wings and he disappeared.

Chuck blinked. "And I thought being a Prophet of the Lord was weird."

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: Next stop, Dean gets a glimpse of what it's like to hear (and occasionally answer) prayers. And we're rapidly approaching a little T-rated Destiel, so if you're opposed to DeanCastiel slash... Um, what the heck are you doing here? ;) _

_Seriously, if the story summary didn't tip you off, now's your chance to jump ship. And if you want to stick with me, but would rather not read mature content for any reason whatsoever, feel free to PM me for an edited version. I am happy to oblige. _

_Thank you once again to_ Snailhair101, Zana Zira, nani'anela, _and_ Olivia Crane_ for the lovely reviews. Forty-two total, that's life, the universe, and everything! I was geekily stoked to see that number pop up. Thank you also to all who have followed and favorited. _


	13. Chapter 13

The headache started almost immediately. Castiel was flying so fast, at first it didn't even register as flying. Dean felt as if he was still standing in the HQ cabin back at camp, watching a movie projected all around him in fast forward. The starlit darkness of the wilderness gave way in an instant to the sporadic lights of human habitation. In another instant, they'd left that suburban safe zone behind for the broken, burnt out shell of a city. A search light illuminated a brick wall scrawled with graffiti. Another flash outside a busted window lit up a room where a pile of furniture made a makeshift barrier in front of the door. Another flash, and Dean caught a glimpse of movement, soldiers patrolling the perimeter of the hot zone.

_Flash._ A mob of Croats moving at a shambling run toward the soldiers. _Flash. _ A glimpse of the Gateway Arch. _Flash. _The haggard faces of refugees, lined up for a meal doled out by almost equally haggard-looking Red Cross volunteers. _Flash. _A view of the Arch from the opposite side of the river, and at his feet a rotting corpse and a scurry of rats.

On and on, too fast to do more than register vague impressions. It was like trying to read a book by strobe light while the pages ruffled past in a gust of wind. Dean's skull pounded at the onslaught as Castiel checked St. Louis off his mental list. Lucifer wasn't there, and no demonic omens heralded the Morning Star's arrival in the beleaguered city.

The lights of another city rushed toward them, and another and another as Castiel searched the Midwest. Dean retreated into a dusty mental corner, shoulders leaning against the wall, knees drawn up to his chest, his aching head cradled in the palms of his hands. He managed to block out the bewildering visual barrage, but the relief was short-lived.

_Oh, God— _

_Please, just let him be okay and I promise I'll never—_

—_and Mommy and Grandma and Joey and—_

—_for ever and ever, amen._

—_no!_

_Cas?_ Dean tried and failed to suppress the note of panic in that syllable. There was a babble of voices in his head, calling out to them as Castiel flew by. Like the chaotic glimpses Dean had caught of the angel's search, most of the words were already gone before he could begin to process them. _Cas? What the hell is that? Angel radio? _He felt confusion from Castiel. The angel was puzzled by the question, but then Dean felt comprehension dawn.

_Oh. You're tuning in the supplications. Those are prayers, Dean, _Castiel explained. _I am not picking up anything relevant to Lucifer's presence. You should try to ignore them._

_There are people in trouble out there. _The pain drilling through his skull had surpassed the worst hangover he'd ever experienced. Dean realized he'd turned to press his face into his corner, curling his body into a ball and clamping his hands over his ears.

_There are always people in trouble. These are not your responsibility. _The angel's voice in his mind sounded weary.

—_damn you, God. Damn you! I never asked you for anything, and I'm not going to start now_—

_That guy sounds pissed._ Dean could relate to the desperate, furious cry of defiance.

_There is nothing you can do for him. For any of them. Ignore them, _Castiel advised, stern.

_Screw that, Cas. Take us back. _

_Dean_—

_Go back, Cas. _Dean felt rather than heard a celestial sigh and easily pictured Cas giving him a very Sam-like look of exasperation. He pushed himself out of the corner, rising to his feet to find himself standing in an abandoned office in yet another shattered Midwest city. Dean swayed on his feet, momentarily disoriented by the sudden cessation of motion, and felt Castiel spread his wings for balance.

A man about Dean's own age crouched against one wall, cradling his arm against his chest. His sleeve was blood-soaked.

"Just let them get away. Just let them get away. I don't care what you do to me, just let them get away," he muttered. _Just let them get away. Just let them get away._

The mantra repeated over and over, the same broken murmur assaulting Dean from both inside and out. His vision blurred in a heated rush as he realized Castiel was right. There was a dull thudding against the other side of the wall, a clumsy, insistent thumping and scratching at the door to the room, the shuffling footsteps and guttural moans of a horde of Croats. That and the jagged wounds on the man's arm told a story all too familiar to any survivor.

"Poor bastard. At least we can put him out of his misery." Dean flicked his wrist and Castiel's sword materialized in his hand. A quick, clean death with the razor-sharp angelic blade was preferable to an agony of chills and fever followed by reanimation as a zombie.

_Let me. _Castiel took control and the sword disappeared. He stalked across the floor to the stricken man, two fingers aimed for his forehead. Brown eyes widened in shock as the angel moved in, and the man let out a startled gasp.

_Dammit, Cas, the whole mercy killing thing fails if you let them see it coming, _ Dean snapped, appalled that their efforts were causing even more suffering. _You're scaring the crap out of the poor bastard._

_That was not my intent. Sometimes, when a soul is close to death, its perceptions are more acute. _Castiel's reply was apologetic.

Dean took control, dropping to a crouch beside the victim and adjusting Cas's 'smiting' gesture into an awkward brush of his hand across the man's forehead, already burning with fever. "Hey. It's going to be okay," he soothed, his voice catching on the lie.

"I'm hallucinating," he breathed. "You're not—"

"An angel? Yeah, I am." Mentally, Dean shrugged. No harm in trying to make the guy's last moments a little easier.

He gripped Dean's arm weakly. "My family. Please. I didn't mean what I said—" The man's eyes fluttered closed and his hand slipped away.

"Shh. We'll take care of them. I told you, everything is going to be all right." Dean closed his own eyes as Castiel took control of his hand, raising it again and touching two fingers to the doomed man's forehead.

_I am sorry_, he said quietly after a moment, letting Dean know it was finished.

Dean shook his head. "Fly recon for me. He died drawing those Croats out there away from his family. We're going to make sure they get away, damn it."

There was a flutter of wings and an instant later they appeared at the side of a convenience store where a small group of people huddled in the dubious shelter of some wooden fencing enclosing a dumpster.

"Come on," Dean ordered, "we're going to get you out of here."

"No. My Blake's still out there somewhere," protested an older woman, while another shook her head, braids swaying with the motion.

"Not without my husband."

"He prayed for your deliverance with his final breath. You must obey." Castiel's brusque command slipped out before Dean could prevent it.

"I'm sorry," Dean added, ushering Blake's wife out of the enclosure with an arm around her shoulders. The grandmother stifled a sob but followed without argument, gripping the hand of a wide-eyed little boy who couldn't have been more than six or seven.

He led the pitiful huddle of civilians past shattered shop windows and scattered debris, guided by Castiel's angel reconnaissance. In the distance he could see a perimeter fashioned of chain-link fencing. They could all hear the shuffling tread and fitful moans of a band of Croats gradually catching up to them from behind. _Any more zombies up ahead, Cas?_ Dean asked.

_No. The survivors have a clear shot to the safe zone. If they remain on their current trajectory and maintain the pace you've set they will meet up with a border patrol within the next three minutes._

Dean stifled a humorless snort. _Any chance those soldiers won't shoot first and ask questions later? _ There was a pause, during which he imagined Castiel frowning consideringly, tilting his head to one side.

_The corporal leading the patrol is devout,_ he said after a moment. _I will send her a vision to instruct her to prepare for a rescue mission._

_Nice one, Cas, _Dean chuckled silently. Out loud he told the little family group, "Keep heading for the fence. Don't be afraid. They'll quarantine you just to be sure but in a few hours you'll be clear."

"Thank you." Blake's mother nodded and took over, ushering the others toward the lights of the safe zone.

Dean didn't have to tell Cas what he wanted to do next. He felt the angel make their wings manifest, unfurling them with a snap. In a moment he flew out of sight of the fence, back into the dark, derelict streets of the hot zone. The gleaming blade slipped into Dean's hand, and he couldn't tell if he or Castiel was the one who had summoned it. Maybe they both had. The Croats closed in around them and the angel and his vessel launched themselves to meet them with righteous rage. Dean swung the sword, lopping off the heads of the two nearest zombies in one smooth arc, their foul, putrefied blood spraying from the stumps of their necks as they fell. Castiel vaulted them over the next Croat, aiming a kick to the center of the creature's chest that sent it bowling into another of its fellows. Dean ran them both through with a single, brutal thrust of the angel blade. In a minute it was all over. They touched down on the blood-stained asphalt at the center of a circle of a dozen slain Croats. Castiel banished the gore spattering their clothes and sheathed the now-pristine sword with a flick of his wrist.

_Dean, I could tell that the search was becoming overwhelming for you. We should stop now, before it becomes too painful._ Castiel's voice in his mind was hushed, as if the angel was reluctant to add any more sensory input.

_No way. I feel good,_ Dean insisted. The fight had gone a long way toward easing the sting of Blake's death. He hadn't been able to save the man, but he and Cas had made sure his final prayer had been answered, and dealt out a very satisfying bit of vengeance. _Not for nothing, but ganking those Croats like that was almost as good as sex, _he joked.

_Agreed,_ Castiel said solemnly. _I am beginning to think there is a slim chance we will be able to survive several seconds in combat against Lucifer. _

_That's what I like about you, Cas, that boundless optimism of yours._

* * *

><p><em>Wow, I'm overwhelmed. So many reviews! Thank you to<em> MadWithMusic, Zana Zira, Cerulea, nani'anela, Snailhair101, Becca, _and_ Shellie Rae _for your very kind response to the last chapter. _

_I can't promise any 'mature content' in the next chapter, but the guys will definitely end up discussing the idea, prompted by an encounter with some of Cas's groupies from his hippie love guru days. (And yes, by mature content I meant sex. LOL)_


	14. Chapter 14

Castiel, Angel of the Lord, had searched for Lucifer in every major city from Missouri to Ohio. Dean now knew exactly what Jimmy Novak had meant when he'd compared life as a vessel to being chained to a comet. He'd retreated deep into his own subconscious, ignoring the pummeling torrent of information as best he could for his own sanity's sake.

It took a while before he realized that the sensory overload had finally ended. Dean cautiously cracked one eye open, finding himself back at Camp Chitaqua. It was midafternoon, a beautiful late summer day with just a hint of autumn in the crisp, pine-scented mountain air. Castiel hovered just above the grass of a clearing in the trees not far from the dining hall, nothing stirring but the tips of his wings, silently keeping them aloft.

Several survivors relaxed in a circle on the soft, overgrown grass, lounging in the dappled sunlight slanting through the trees. Erin and another of the women Dean still thought of as Cas's groupies sat with their legs curled into pretzel-like yoga poses. Jane and a blonde—Dean wasn't entirely sure but he thought her name might be Cheryl—sat in more relaxed-looking positions while Mikey sprawled flat out on his back. Dean caught a whiff of something that might have been incense mingled with the sun-warmed grass and pine, and an indistinct, melodic murmuring.

_What is that, Cas? What's your flower power brigade up to now?_

_Meditation, _Castiel replied simply.

Dean strained his ears, trying to make out words, but there was nothing but that soft, tuneful undertone, like birdsong heard from a distance. He felt calm, his headache from tagging along on the angel's search for Lucifer receding, leaving behind a sense of optimism and well-being. It was like the emotions he sometimes felt from Castiel, but these weren't the angel's creation, Dean realized. Rather, Cas was reflecting back the peace and calm of the women seated below them, amplifying it. Basking in it. Dean had to admit, it was kind of nice. Relaxing.

_So the love guru stuff was real? You taught them how to do that? _

_It was a collaborative effort, _Castiel told him modestly.

_Mikey, too? _ Dean had to ask, skeptical. The good-natured grunt definitely had a blissed-out expression on his face. His view of the man angled as Castiel tilted his head, considering him.

_No, I believe Mikey is merely stoned, _he answered after a moment. _The marijuana plants I helped him cultivate have flourished. You know, _Castiel went on, _I really never meant them any harm, the women. I just wanted to lose myself in hedonism. _

_I know you didn't,_ Dean reassured him. _It's the end of the world, man. I think most people are just trying to squeeze whatever last bit of enjoyment they can out of life before the lights go out for good. _He felt a pang of regret. He hadn't exactly been very supportive of the fallen angel after the rest of the Heavenly Host had retreated, abandoning Cas to existence as a mortal.

Instead of responding with words, Castiel sent a warm surge of understanding and forgiveness his way. The angel's outpourings of emotion often made Dean uncomfortable, but right now, suspended in Cas's groupies' peaceful meditation-bubble, he was able to accept them without too much embarrassment.

_Speaking of carnal pleasure... _

So much for not being embarrassed. Dean felt a blush heat his cheeks. _Let's not, _ he pleaded.

_It's just that I've noticed you trying to suppress your sex drive ever since Kansas City—_

_Give me a break, Cas. Risa's dead because of me, remember? _

_I remember. _ Castiel 's tone was solemn. _I also remember that your relationship with Risa was not a monogamous one. Even if you are in mourning for her, Dean, you've always dealt with negative emotions by seeking out promiscuous sexual encounters. I note that there are several attractive women in camp who I am sure would be eager to meet your physical needs—_

_Okay, I get that you're trying to help, _ Dean interrupted gruffly, _but seriously, cut it out with the sex talk. I'm fine._

_You are embarrassed. I do not understand why. _

Castiel took flight, rising above the trees and moving off over the camp, taking the increasingly awkward discussion away from the oblivious little group of survivors. Dean could feel his friend's puzzlement, the angel's sincere desire to help. He took control, flying them back to his cabin. Once inside, Dean flopped down in a chair. In his mind's eye, Cas sat cross-legged on the bed.

"No offense, Cas, but with you riding shotgun in my head, the idea of sex…" Dean spread his hands, a helpless gesture. "It's just weird. It would be like having a threesome," he tried to explain, feeling the blush spread to the tips of his ears.

"Why would that be a deterrent? In my time as a human, I found participation in such groupings enjoyable. Your memories indicate that your experiences were similarly pleasurable." Castiel's confused expression made it clear he wasn't getting it.

Dean opened a desk drawer and pulled out a liquor bottle. Not seeing a glass anywhere close to hand, he drank directly from the bottle. "You're missing the point," he said, making an effort to be patient. Dean wiped his lips with the back of his hand. "A threesome with two chicks is enjoyable. Not a threesome with me, a chick, and your hairy ass."

"My ass in this current manifestation is your ass," Castiel pointed out, deadpan, "and it isn't hairy. More to the point, Jimmy's ass wasn't hairy, either... Since I presume his ass is the one you would envision during any sexual encounter in which I might be involved."

The angel's crystal blue eyes appeared innocent, but Dean swore he could detect a wicked trace of amusement hiding behind that angelic facade. "Hairy or not, I'm not that desperate," he growled, taking a final swig of whiskey before replacing the bottle in the desk. "Come on, let's go see if the others have managed to come up with any leads on Lucifer."

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: <em> nani'anela, Zana Zira, Snailhair101, Rising Sun, _and_ francybaguette, _you all ROCK. Thank you for the reviews! I appreciate the feedback so much. _


	15. Chapter 15

The search for Lucifer continued. Dean had resigned himself to spending the better part of each day 'chained to a comet' as Jimmy Novak had called it, buffeted by the sensory overload of Castiel's faster-than-human-thought surveying of major hot zones and scanning of prayers.

"Dean. Dean, listen to me." Cas's voice was a peculiar combination of gruff and gentle.

He groaned and uncurled from the fetal position he'd ended up in, finding himself on the floor in what looked to be an abandoned warehouse. Aching muscles protested and his head throbbed with pain as he pushed himself upright. He held up a hand to forestall the angel's inevitable questions, standing half crouched until the wave of nausea ebbed away.

"I'm fine," he lied, straightening. "Where are we?"

He shook his head, declining to answer. "It does not matter. There are no omens here, no sign of the Morning Star's presence. We should return to camp now. This is clearly wearing on you."

"I'm good for another hour or two, Cas." His stomach protested, filling his mouth with a rush of saliva as bile rose dangerously high in his throat, but Dean forced it down. He could endure this for as long as it took to find the devil. To find Sam. He sensed Castiel's disapproval and worry, but to Dean's relief, the angel acquiesced without an argument.

"Very well. But no longer than that."

* * *

><p>He came to, mercifully, in darkness, back at Camp Chitaqua. Dean was in his cabin, lying in his bed. He noted with a mixture of embarrassment and amusement that Castiel had apparently tucked him in, removing his boots and outer garments and covering him with a sheet.<p>

"Thanks, Cas."

The angel had stretched his consciousness out over the camp, keeping watch. Dean could see him in his mind's eye, perched on a rocky outcrop high up on the mountain like a trenchcoat-clad gargoyle, wings wrapped around himself as he stood guard.

_Sleep_, he ordered.

Dean yawned. "Yeah, no argument here."

He found himself walking through a suburban park. Through a thin screen of trees, Dean could see a soccer field, parents standing along the sidelines or sitting on portable canvas camp chairs, watching as their kids ran back and forth. A woman's voice called his name and he turned to see Lisa sitting on a red white and blue plaid blanket, a fully-loaded picnic basket by her side. He drank in the sight of her, all tanned skin and bright eyes and welcoming smile. With her modest sundress and her hair falling in soft waves, she looked, Dean thought, like a freakin' postcard for wholesome, middle-American living. He felt a surge of desire and smiled back at her as she beckoned.

"Come on," she urged. "We only have an hour before we have to pick Ben up from baseball practice."

Dean joined her on the blanket, accepting the glass she held out to him. He'd always considered wine a snobbish, effeminate drink, but hey, it was her picnic. He clinked his glass against hers, drained it, and set it aside on the grass. Lisa's eyes widened as he took her own half-full glass from her hand.

"Hey," she protested, laughing, but her eyes darkened as he leaned in and brushed her hair back from her neck, trailing kisses down the column of her throat.

"We've only got an hour," Dean reminded her huskily. "Let's see how much trouble we can get into," he added with a chuckle, and she melted into his arms. He fell back onto the blanket, pulling her down with him, but even as his pulse quickened his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Something about this wasn't right. "You're not Lisa." In an instant he'd rolled, pinning her beneath him, a knife to her throat. "Who the hell are you?"

"Dammit!" Dean protested. He sat up on the side of the bed, scrubbing a hand over his face as the dream faded. "Not helping, here, Cas."

_I thought that since you are uncomfortable with sharing a real sexual interlude, a dream might be—_

"Even more creepy? Thanks, but no thanks."

_I'm confused, Dean. That imagery came directly from your subconscious mind. How could you tell that it was not your own recurring dream?_

Even as annoyed as he was, Dean had to let loose a snort of laughter at the bewildered disappointment positively radiating from Castiel. The angel just couldn't understand why his plan hadn't worked. "I told you before, Cas. My subconscious is a paranoid place...And besides, _my_ Gumby Girl doesn't smell like weed."

_I apologize for being… Creepy. I only wanted to help._

"It's okay," Dean chuckled dryly. "You know, blue balls aren't life-threatening. Just inconvenient." Granted, the prospect of long-term celibacy didn't exactly thrill him, but that concern was easy to put aside for the more pressing issue of getting his brother back. At least he'd gotten a couple of hours of sleep, Dean thought philosophically. As long as he was awake he might as well get back to work. He made a move to stand up, and in that moment Dean realized Castiel had transported him, bed and all, into the middle of an apple orchard.

"Geez, Cas, now what?" he groaned, slumping back down on the edge of the mattress. It was springtime here, judging by the soft pink and white blossoms loading the branches of every tree. Their fragrance perfumed the air, sweet and sultry. Bees buzzed from flower to flower. The air hummed with the vibration of their tiny wings, and with a throbbing tension that made Dean's ebbing desire from his dream of Lisa surge back into sharp focus. The very air in the orchard was heady with passion. It just figured, he thought ruefully, that Castiel would take the whole birds and bees thing literally.

"I don't understand." Castiel appeared beside him. "Generally I find it calming to watch the bees."

Great, Dean thought sarcastically, now the angel had a boner, too. "Forget the bees. Just...I don't know… Think pure thoughts or something until it goes away," he advised. The mattress creaked as Castiel shifted to face him.

"I would prefer to find a mutually acceptable outlet for our combined sexual tension," he ground out. Castiel's hand fell heavy on Dean's shoulder, forcing him to turn and look into his eyes.

The angel's lust slammed into him, dizzying in its intensity. Cas's eyes were wide, pupils dilated. His hair was sticking up in all directions, a messy halo, as if someone had already run their fingers through it in the heat of passion. Dean took a steadying breath, wishing the warm, perfumed air wasn't quite so thick with Castiel's emotions, and firmly removed his hand from his shoulder.

"You're invading my personal space," he cautioned.

Castiel shook his hand out of Dean's grasp and gestured at the orchard surrounding them. "And you have invaded mine," he complained. A pair of bees descended from the nearest tree and swirled in giddy, drunken circles around their heads.

"I told you, forget about the bees." Dean swatted at the offending insects. "Aren't they all female, anyway?" He paused to contemplate that bit of trivia. "Huh. I think they are. Hey, Cas, your subconsious is full of lesbian bees."

"Dean? Not helping."

Like the bees, Castiel was hovering, suddenly even closer than before, their noses practically touching. Dean could feel the angel's body as if it was his own. Probably because it was his own, he thought, and couldn't stop a bark of laughter at their predicament.

"Look, we've both just got to calm down. Get a grip."

"I would like very much to... Get a grip," Castiel leaned closer to murmur in his ear.

Dean groaned. As if a horny angel wasn't enough to contend with. Now Cas was stealing his cheesy pick-up lines, too.

"You have always been a corrupting influence," the angel agreed solemnly with his unspoken thought.

His stubble rasped along Dean's jaw as he pulled back just far enough for Dean to see his face, blue eyes dark with passion and lips half-parted, enticing him to kiss...Cas's lustful fantasy, not his, Dean reminded himself. The Angel of the Lord might not care about gender or sexual orientation, but his vessel was very much a human. A dude. A one-hundred-percent, no-homo, _straight_ dude, who knew exactly how to end this impasse. Dean closed his eyes, braced himself, leaned in, and kissed him.

There was a faint but literal buzz when their mouths touched, the bright heat of spring sunshine and the scent of apple blossoms and a teasing, elusive taste of honey. The angel's lips were startling, shockingly soft. The kiss was gentle, almost chaste, and over far too soon. Clearly, his notion that kissing Cas would repulse him and put a damper on his libido was going to require some extensive reevaluation, Dean realized, because he already wanted more.

He tilted his head to recapture the angel's lips, but Castiel was suddenly playing coy, turning his face aside to nuzzle against his neck. Impatient, Dean cupped his jaw and brushed his lips against Cas's, catching another tantalizing hint of honeyed sweetness. He could feel his excitement, his pleasure in the teasingly innocent contact, which made it all the more frustrating when he shyly pulled away.

"What gives? I thought you were looking for a 'mutually acceptable outlet," he challenged, throwing the angel's words back at him.

"I am not trying to be a tease," Castiel intoned, the incongruity of the words delivered in that oh-so-solemn tone drawing a huff of incredulous laughter from Dean.

"No, Dean," he protested, "this is serious. I know how overwhelming even glimpses of my true form can be. I do not want my desires to unduly influence you."

Dean could feel Castiel's emotions as clearly as he could feel his body pressed against him, hip to hip. The angel's concern touched something vulnerable inside him that he would prefer to keep hidden away, unexamined. Embarrassed, Dean rushed to deny it. "I'm not some blushing teenage virgin here," he scoffed. "It's a little late to be worried about my honor, don't you think?"

"Never."

That low, rough voice in his ear sent another wave of lust shuddering through Dean's body.

"I would not jeopardize the purity of our bond," Castiel growled, "never betray your trust."

"Then trust me now. I know what I'm doing." Dean fisted a hand in the angel's hair and tugged his head back, crushing his mouth to his. _Kiss me like you mean it, Cas._

Castiel did, and it was just as devastating as he had promised. Dean could feel the blood singing through his veins, could count each individual strand of hair threaded through his fingers. He could taste the searing white light of Cas's true form on his tongue. When Cas's hand slid under the hem of his t-shirt Dean felt the angel's questing fingertips as clearly as he could feel the muscles of his abdomen tense in response to the caress. Cas sighed and Dean felt his own vocal cords vibrate to the same pitch of longing and desire. Every touch sent another jolt of passion rippling out from the source, only to be amplified and sent crashing back, building higher and higher into a tidal wave that threatened to sweep him away if not for the angel buoying him up, carrying him to dizzying heights. Never letting him fall.

When a pause allowed Dean to catch his breath he wasn't sure whether he should be grateful or annoyed. Definitely annoyed, he decided as an ice-water trickle of doubt from Castiel cooled the heated tide of pleasure. The angel's fingers hovered at the waistband of his boxers, hesitating, making him ache with frustration.

"Cas, _please_," he growled.

"You're sure?"

"Now you really are being a tease." Dean grabbed his hand and guided it to where it belonged.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Cas?"<p>

"...Mm?"

"Thanks for the hand."

"Mm," the angel mumbled sleepily.

He was back in his cabin in the wilderness. In his mind's eye Dean could see Castiel hovering over Camp Chitaqua on silent wings. The greater portion of the angel's consciousness was back on guard duty, seemingly unaffected by what had just transpired between them.

...Tell that to the tousle-headed angel currently sharing his bed. Dean couldn't help but chuckle. He knew angels didn't require sleep, but the warm body fitted up against him sure seemed as if it was down for the count.

"Cas. You doing okay?" he asked. It was only common decency, Dean thought, to offer to return the favor, although he was positive the angel was just as head-to-toes sated and content as he was. "Cas?" he prodded. "_Cas?_" Okay, if he was being honest it was just fun to mess with him in this unaccustomed vulnerable state.

_Dean._ The low bass echoing inside his skull sounded a warning of celestial ire from the ever-watchful angel perched in his rocky aerie above the camp. _Silence. Now._

_Yeah, yeah._ Still chuckling, Dean gave up on tormenting the sleepy scrap of Castiel's grace nestled beside him, but not before planting a loud, sloppy kiss on his cheek and earning himself another protesting grumble.

_...Dean?_

The hesitant query drew him back from the brink of slumber. _Yeah, Cas?_

_Do you still consider this creepy? Watching over you as you sleep, I mean?_

Dean suppressed a sigh. _Only when you draw attention to it._

_I do not understand. Either an action is disturbing enough to merit the creepy designation, or it is not. How does discussing it make it—_

_Cas,_ Dean interrupted him. _Silence. Now._

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: So yeah, that's about as sexy as you get from me. If you want real smut with a side order of giggles, you should check out <em>Snailhair101_'s epic smut-tacular_ Virgin Graces_. _

_ Meanwhile, many thanks to _MadWithMusic_, the aforementioned_ Snailhair101, francybaguette, nani'anela,_ and _Zana Zira_ for your reviews. You guys make fanfiction fun. _


	16. Chapter 16

_I have some new combat drills for us to practice, _Castiel spoke up in Dean's mind as he walked across camp after an early morning meeting with Chuck.

_Good idea, _ Dean agreed. Impatient as he was to find Lucifer, the more time they had to get ready, the better their chances of giving Sam his shot at breaking free of the archangel's control.

In an instant his wings sprouted from his shoulders with a rustle of inky black feathers and he found himself standing in the granite circle of Castiel's angel combat arena.

"I will fly solo this time." Castiel spoke with Dean's voice, taking control of the body they shared.

_Um… Sure, Cas. Whatever you want, _Dean said, doubtful. His hesitation wasn't due to the fear of flying he was steadily overcoming, but because Cas had said this would be a combat exercise. How were they supposed to fight if there was no opponent? As if in answer to his unspoken question, another angel appeared on the opposite side of the arena. Young, with sandy hair and a sorrowful expression, he stood about the same height as Dean. Iridescent wings, so white they dazzled the eye, stretched to an even more impressive span than Castiel's. Dean might have been alarmed by the sudden apparition, but Castiel's memories reassured him. Their opponent wasn't real, but rather the Heavenly Host's version of a combat flight simulator, conjured up for their practice session by Cas's imagination.

_Who's the sad sack? _

"One of Lucifer's former vessels. Do not be fooled by his outward appearance," Castiel warned. "The Morning Star's prowess in battle was ever second only to Michael's."

_Bring it on, _Dean challenged.

Angel blades flicked into existence and the two warriors took flight. Dean had approximately half a second in which to congratulate himself on how calm he felt before the first clash of swords slammed home the realization that this was a whole new level of combat. Castiel and the Lucifer simulation exchanged a series of lightning-fast feints and parries, testing out one anothers' defenses. The staccato chime of blade against blade made it seem more like the two angels were perfecting a musical composition instead of sparring. Then Lucifer's sword broke through Cas's guard. He felt the electric tingle of the blade cutting a deep gash across his abdomen, one that would have spilled his guts out onto the arena floor if the wound had been a real one. Dean estimate the entire exchange had taken less than five seconds.

"Four point five nine three," Castiel confirmed as he touched down in the rocky circle.

_And here I thought you were being a pessimist when you said we might survive for a few seconds_, Dean quipped, but just then Lucifer charged across the arena. Cas vaulted up and over the simulacrum and Dean couldn't help but clench his eyes shut as his stomach gave a rebellious lurch. Cas forced his eyelids open, but another tingling jolt of electricity pierced his chest as Lucifer took full advantage of the angel's moment of blindness and delivered a killing blow.

_Sorry, Cas._

Castiel gave a little huff of annoyance and touched back down on the ground. In an instant, the Lucifer simulation had returned to its own starting position and they began again. This time Dean managed to keep his eyes open when Castiel turned upside-down, but instead of righting himself when he had the opportunity, he stayed suspended in the air, fighting upside-down with the same grace as he displayed when right-side-up. Or almost. Another electric sizzle as the archangel's sword sliced through Dean's neck. He could imagine his severed head falling and rolling across the floor of the arena if this had been real combat, and his stomach tightened with nausea that had nothing to do with being inverted.

"You're tensing up," Castiel complained. "You have to trust me to do this."

_Sorry,_ Dean told him again, meaning it. It was starting to dawn on him just how patient Cas had been with him to get him to this point. _Don't worry, Cas, I got it now._ With supreme effort he drew back into an out of the way corner of his mind and forced himself to relax, letting Castiel take complete control.

_Much better_, Cas reassured him silently, and reset the training session once again. The two angels spiraled into the sky, winging into the upper atmosphere to play their own deadly game of hide and seek among the clouds. Dean heard the rustle of feathers on one side and then another and felt at least a dozen sparks, phantom wounds where Lucifer's sword flashed out of hiding to nick his flesh. Castiel dodged away each time, not letting the archangel get close enough to inflict real damage. Then there was almost complete silence and he found himself straining his ears for some hint of where Lucifer had concealed himself. Castiel whirled and buffeted the air with a mighty swoop of his wings, dispersing the clouds and revealing the archangel, blade poised to deliver another killing blow.

"Too slow, chickenhawk," Dean crowed as Cas parried. Metal screamed against metal as the blades locked. He could feel his muscles strain as Lucifer forced his arm down. The simulacrum didn't speak, but it bared its teeth in a sneer just inches from Dean's face.

"Whoa, try a breath mint next time," he suggested cockily, taking his taunting duties seriously although the words didn't seem to elicit any reaction from the construct. The archangel was clearly stronger than Cas, his arm inexorably forcing Cas's arm down. Then Dean felt Castiel tuck his wings in tight against his back and they plummeted out of Lucifer's hold.

The archangel followed suit, wind rushing past Dean's streaming eyes as they fell, swords clashing in combat too swift for his human eyes and mind to follow as anything but a silvery blur of musically chiming blades. He stifled a whimper, anticipating a world of hurt as the dining hall roof rushed up to meet them. With a splintering crash, the angels slammed straight through the moss-covered cedar shingles and the broad heartwood pine planks of the floor below, blasting a crater in the center of the big, rustic room. Residents of Camp Chitaqua scattered, some screaming in terror, others hastily fumbling for weapons.

Castiel and Lucifer ignored them, continuing to fight their way through the decimated remains of breakfast as if the humans were beneath their notice. Dean couldn't help but add his own scream to the cacophony when Chuck Shurley drew a pistol and shot him in the belly. To the prophet's credit he'd been aiming for Lucifer, Dean thought wildly as pain lanced through his body, but the archangel had dodged the bullet. Another shriek took his attention from the agony twisting his guts. Dean looked up to see Cheryl struggling in Lucifer's grip.

"No!" he bellowed, and wrested control from Castiel. Dean launched himself across a dining table and struck Lucifer's temple with the pommel of his sword, gaining the blonde woman an opening to break free. Lucifer gave a negligent flick of his wrist, effortlessly disarming Dean, who swayed helplessly on his feet. His consciousness was fading fast as the adrenaline rush wore off and blood loss from the bullet wound caught up to him. Lucifer laid him out flat on the floor with a punch to the jaw and walked around the table to place a foot on Dean's throat.

The last thing Dean heard before the Morning Star casually snapped his neck was an aggrieved sigh from Castiel.

"Another name humans have given the devil is 'Father of Lies'," he said dryly.

Dean groaned and sat up on the rough, dark granite. Blue sky stretched out in all directions to the horizon and beyond. The wreckage of the dining hall had disappeared. No, he realized with a start of embarrassment, it had never existed. They were still in Castiel's combat arena. He touched the front of his shirt gingerly, the soft, worn cotton under his fingers dry and intact instead of blood-soaked and shredded.

"I knew that." He forced himself to stand. "Guess we'd better run through it again, huh?" he said, bracing himself for Cas to disappear from his mind's eye and take control of their shared body once more.

"Later. You told Chuck we'd lead a supply run, remember?"

* * *

><p>"The hell have you been up to, Winchester? You look like crap," Jane said cheerfully when the volunteers assembled beside the vehicles.<p>

"You don't want to know." He scanned the 'shopping list' Chuck had provided one last time, then looked around the small circle of survivors, all armed to the teeth as befitted their destination in the heart of a Croatoan hot zone. "Okay, let's get going."

"I'll drive," Jane said, and Dean nodded, gladly taking her up on the offer.

"I could use another hour or two of shut-eye," he agreed, sliding into the passenger side seat and closing his eyes. He didn't need the sleep, but it was easier to let Jane think he was napping than to explain. Sharing both body and mind left scant privacy for either vessel or angel. Cas had been grimly silent since flying them back to camp, and Dean thought he knew why. He sought the angel out in his subconscious, mentally picturing him seated on a boulder high up on the side of the mountain.

_Hey,_ he greeted, taking a seat beside him. _Don't worry about the flying thing, Cas. I get it now._

The angel tilted his head, looking at Dean without comprehension. _ It would be foolish to expect you to compete on Lucifer's level_, he pointed out.

_On_ any _level. Dude, I can't believe I let you spend all that time letting me think I even had a chance. _

_It was never my intent to deceive you, _Castiel protested._ I felt it would be beneficial for you to learn the rudiments of flight on your own. Expecting blind faith from you is a poor strategy, _the angel added with a trace of amusement.

_Yeah._ Dean couldn't even feel bitter, just grateful for Cas's patience and the lengths he was willing to go to to help him take on Lucifer. _ I get it now,_ he repeated. _From now on I'll sit back and let you handle the angelic combat. _

_That was always the plan, _Castiel reminded him. _ I have faith in you, Dean. Lucifer will not know what hit him. _

His friend's words were sincere, but the warm flood of assurance that usually accompanied them was lacking. The angel sat slumped, his wings drooping as they sprawled from his shoulders. Something was definitely wrong, something Cas was trying hard to shield him from. Dean shifted on the sun-warmed stone, positioning himself behind him. With a thought he'd divested him of the heavy layers of trenchcoat and suit jacket, dress shirt and tie, leaving him in the thin cotton t-shirt he wore underneath. With another thought, the white feathers of Castiel's wings began to darken in hue.

_You'll be wearing_ my _wings when we take on Lucifer, _he reminded him, digging his fingers into the tense muscles of Castiel's shoulders. Cas didn't reply, but Dean was gratified to feel him begin to relax under his efforts. He turned his attention to the wings sprouting from Cas's shoulder blades, plunging his hands deep into the feathers to knead at the unfamiliar musculature beneath. It was easy to tell what worked, even with Cas's stubborn silence, as the sensations echoed through his own body.

Castiel curved one wing forward, plucking moodily at the chrome-edged flight feathers, preening them. Dean mimicked the technique on the feathers near the base of the wings, grooming each one and smoothing it back into place. The angel stifled a groan, reveling in the attention, the sensations of comfort and companionship. There was a hint of something else slumbering beneath the innocent, platonic enjoyment, something dark and sensual that Dean knew he could awaken if he wanted to, but he tucked that notion away to explore another time. _Cas. Tell me what's wrong. _

He didn't say anything for a while, sitting silent and passive as Dean preened his feathers, and when he finally spoke, it was a different topic entirely. _It's been a long time since anyone helped me groom my wings,_ Castiel murmured dreamily. _Not since before I fell for the first time._

Dean hissed involuntarily at the fleeting, unexpected image of tattered feathers, mauled and broken wings, and remembered that Cas had once been called back to heaven for 're-education'. He'd always suspected that heaven's methods were no less barbaric than hell's, and here was proof.

_Cas,_ he prompted again, suppressing his anger at the torture his friend had endured. It was over now, of no import, as Cas would say.

_The exercise of free will is so confusing, Dean. It's difficult to know if a course of action is correct. I had thought it would become easier once I ceased to be human._

The angel sounded so lost and unsure. Dean felt a pang of sympathy even as he failed to completely suppress a chuckle. _Yeah, well, that's life_, he said philosophically. _For what it's worth, I think you're doing great. _

_I have my doubts,_ Castiel confessed. _We will only ever have one chance to catch Lucifer off guard. What if we fail? _

_Then we try something else. _

_But what if we die trying?_

_Then we come back and try again,_ Dean told him, stubborn. _Remember, Cas, you and me? We don't exactly die easy. _

_...What if I let you down? _

The angel's thought was so hesitant Dean could almost believe he'd imagined it. He wrapped his arms around him securely and rested his cheek against the smooth, ebony feathers of one wing. _ Never,_ he told him, trying to send as much affection and reassurance as possible along with the words._ You'll never let me down. _


	17. Chapter 17

Foraging missions went a lot more smoothly now that Castiel had his angel mojo back. Dean practically swaggered as he stepped out onto the loading dock to empty another cart full of canned goods into the vehicles parked behind the warehouse shopping center. Cas's angel GPS had guided the convoy past the worst hordes of Croats, and it had taken the angel mere moments to determine that the cavernous building was clear. They'd be back on the road to Camp Chitaqua in no time.

_Dean._ Castiel's voice in his head was uncertain, almost embarrassed. _You have to come see this._

_What have you got?_ He let the angel lead him back inside, to the front of the building where the managers' offices, restrooms, and staff break room were located. The foraging team had ignored this area, focusing on the well-stocked shelves in the main body of the building.

Castiel came to a stop in front of a door. Closed and no doubt locked, Dean could tell with a glance at the gap between the door and the floor that the office beyond was dark. Castiel focused his attention in on the floor tiles, drawing Dean's eye to a few tiny white granules, all but invisible in the dim recesses of the store. He understood their significance immediately. Someone had laid a salt line inside that door.

_Two uninfected humans, a mother and son,_ Cas confirmed. _The room is also warded with a fairly sophisticated devil's trap and…_ Castiel's voice trailed off.

Dean's own stomach squirmed with the angel's embarrassment. _Just spit it out, Cas. Everyone makes mistakes sometimes._

_There are a number of different symbols. One of them appears to be a rudimentary warding against angels. Crude and not very effective, but it did conceal them from my initial scan of the building,_ Castiel admitted.

_Okay, sounds like she's a hunter. I'm thinking we should reach out,_ Dean began, but found himself plunged into darkness before he could finish the thought.

Castiel had taken control, he realized, and whisked them into the office. As Dean's eyes adjusted he could make out a small, shabby, beige-painted room with nests of pillows and sleeping bags piled in two of the corners and various sigils scrawled on the walls, floor, and the acoustic tiles of the dropped ceiling. Two Asian-American survivors, obviously the mother and son from Cas's reconnaissance report, gaped at him.

"Fear not," Castiel intoned. "I am an Angel of the Lord—"

Whatever else he intended to say was cut off by the distinctive _cha-chunk_ sound of a pump-action shotgun that the woman snatched up from a desk and leveled at Dean's chest.

"Dammit, Cas! You could have mentioned she was armed," he blurted. "Hey, hey, calm down. We're not going to hurt you," he addressed the pair. Meanwhile, he could feel Castiel's lofty lack of concern. _I know your grace can heal rock salt wounds,_ Dean chastised the angel, _but they'll still hurt like a bitch, so let's try not to let that happen, okay?_

"Don't listen to him, Mom. He's one of them." The kid, probably no more than sixteen or seventeen, made a wild lunge for a weapon of his own.

Dean stood still and let him open fire. Water from the super-soaker sprayed into his face, cold and momentarily blinding, but ultimately harmless.

_Holy water_, Castiel confirmed. The angel tipped his head consideringly. _Refreshing, _he noted with approval.

_Clever,_ Dean conceded. There was a harsh intake of breath from the boy. "Okay," Dean said, "now that we've established I'm really not 'one of them', how about introductions before anyone else gets trigger happy?"

"Just leave us alone," the woman said, all bravado, still pointing her shotgun at Dean. "There are plenty of supplies here, enough for all of us. Take it. Take it all, if you must, just—"

"Where did you learn of that sigil?" Castiel interrupted, unable to contain his curiosity.

The angel's inflection and body language were markedly different from those of his vessel. Dean couldn't help but notice it was freaking the kid out. He wasn't sure, but he suspected the teenager was picking up on more than just the outward differences. _Cas? Ix-nay on the angel-say. You're making the id-kay ervous-nay,_ Dean cautioned silently.

_Dean? I understand your intent but your words are gibberish. I cannot decipher their meaning._

"Stop it!" the boy's voice was tinged with hysteria. "I don't know how come the holy water didn't affect him, but he's one of them. The meatsuit's cooperating," he told his mother. "He's talking to the demon, inside his head. I can hear them!"

"I am not a demon," Castiel huffed, affronted. "And my vessel is generally cooperative, despite certain rebellious tendencies. I made sure to seek his consent before taking him."

"Not exactly the wording I would have chosen," Dean rolled his eyes, "but yeah, he's Castiel, an Angel of the Lord. One of the least dickish ones, believe it or not. And I'm a hunter. Dean Winchester," he introduced himself.

The woman laid a hand on her son's arm, calming him. "So he possesses you as a demon would, but requires your consent." Her eyes were sharp as she looked Dean over. "Linda Tran," she offered her own introduction. "What exactly do you hunt? Demons? Zombies?"

"What _don't_ I hunt?" Dean scoffed.

"Then you can help us? Help my son?"

He was about to ask what she meant when he felt a jolt of recognition from Cas and the kid recoiled in terror. Whatever it was, apparently he could feel it too.

"I don't want to go to the desert," he shrieked.

"I am afraid you have no choice, Kevin Tran," Castiel took over, his voice solemn. "You are a Prophet. It is my duty to take you into the desert to learn the word of God apart from men."

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: Thank you so much to<em> Snailhair101, nani'anela, MadWithMusic, Zana Zira, 'Guest', MadWithMusic _(again)_, nani'anela _(again)_, MadWithMusic_ (again)_, Snailhair101 _(again)_, and Zana Zira _(again!)_ _for the very kind and detailed reviews. _

_Sorry to have neglected a note at the end of the last chapter. The site kept eating my formatting every time I tried to upload the new chapter and by the time I finally managed it I was in no mood to go on. So you get an extra-long one this time! _

_I know there's only supposed to be one prophet at a time, but I choose to interpret that as one_ active _prophet, not one_ living _prophet. After all, during Kevin's tenure as the only active prophet there were like seven others just waiting in the wings. And in my version of events Chuck was rendered inactive around the time Dean and Sam chose to split up and go it alone. Now he is the camp quartermaster and the only thing the poor man feels compelled to write are extremely detailed lists of exactly how many cartons of tampons and cans of green beans the survivors need. _

_Besides, I just wanted to bring Kevin back for a road trip. The poor kid got such a shitty story arc in canon, I wanted to use fanfiction to have some fun with him. Thanks again to all of you lovely people and see you next chapter!_


	18. Chapter 18

"Calm down, people. I'm telling you, nobody's going anywhere until we sort this out."

The teenager's panicked yell had brought the rest of the foraging team crowding into the office. Dean was having a hard time controlling the situation, most particularly the angel who was currently arguing with him inside his head.

_You don't understand, Dean. A new prophet has arisen. Garrison protocol dictates he must be taken to the desert._

"But I don't want to—"

Dean held up a hand, silencing the agitated teenager. "I know, kid, I know… Cas? You mind telling us why?"

"So that he can learn the word of God apart from men," he repeated slowly, with exaggerated patience.

That borderline sarcastic tone was all the more annoying, Dean thought, because he suspected Cas had learned it from him. "Yeah? Aren't you forgetting about that little thing we call free will? Since when do you follow garrison protocol?" he challenged, and felt his shoulders stiffen as the angel drew their shared body up to its full height.

"Since the prophet was entrusted to my care," Castiel said with dignity. "Traditionally, the bearers of prophecy fell under the responsibility of the archangels, but of the four, Gabriel is missing; Michael and Raphael have withdrawn into heaven, cutting off all contact with earth; and Lucifer—"

"Obviously we're not handing the kid over to the devil," Dean said hastily, since the prophet looked ready to let out another shriek. "But, Cas, as long as you're the last angel standing, can't you improvise a little? Say, take the kid to the wilderness instead of the desert?"

"He's not going anywhere without me," Mrs. Tran insisted.

Dean made a placating gesture at the petite woman even as Castiel tilted his head skeptically.

"The wilderness?"

"Yeah, why not? We've got a perfectly good stretch of wilderness back at Camp Chitaqua."

"No, Camp Chitaqua is far too temperate." He shook his head stubbornly. "Protocol dictates an arid climate."

"For how long?" Mrs. Tran seemed prepared to bargain.

"I cannot say for certain. Forty days and forty nights is a standard, but the required time to learn the word of God varies."

Mrs. Tran offered, "One month."

"_Mom_!" the prophet protested.

"Hush. Kevin was an honor student before the zombie apocalypse," Mrs. Tran said proudly. "He could probably get it done in a week, but it's not healthy for adolescents to put them under too much pressure."

"Very well," Castiel intoned.

_Cas, no!_ Dean fought the angel for control before he zapped them off to the Mojave Desert. "We'll drive there," he said firmly. "The poor kid can't learn the word of God if he's backed up."

* * *

><p>In the end, Dean convinced Castiel to allow Mrs. Tran and Jane to come too, reasoning that Kevin would probably be more cooperative with his mother along to reassure him. Jane was included in the party to reassure Mrs. Tran, a concept that Cas had trouble understanding.<p>

_But Dean_, _I am an Angel of the Lord. And despite your promiscuous tendencies, you have never taken liberties with a woman without her enthusiastic consent. The prophet's mother could have no two more trustworthy traveling companions_, he insisted.

_She doesn't know that. Face it, Cas, we were in the middle of looting a store when we met the woman. Not to mention the whole talking in two different voices thing we end up doing is sketchy as hell. To anyone who doesn't know us, we look like a psycho,_ Dean pointed out.

Castiel let out a huff of annoyance. "The entire point of taking the prophet to the desert is to keep him apart from men," he muttered, petulant, as they added camping equipment to the pile of supplies in the back of their vehicle.

Dean gave a little mental huff of his own. _Fine, suit yourself. I was just thinking that if we had Mrs. Tran along to keep an eye on Kevin, and Jane to keep an eye on Mrs. Tran, maybe you and me could slip away for a little alone time..._

_Alone time?_

Dean felt the angel's interest pique and provided him with a mental image that illustrated just what he meant.

_...Oh._ "I concede that it might be best to have companionship for the prophet," Castiel said gruffly.

* * *

><p>Dean looked down on the campsite set up in the shelter of a rock formation. The boulders and the rocky ground all around the camp had been liberally scrawled with symbols to ward off demons, not to mention a variety of Enochian sigils that Castiel had taught Mrs. Tran. A campfire cast a cheery glow. Above, a starlit sky beckoned. He unfurled his wings and soared up to meet Castiel.<p>

"Prophet's all tucked in his sleeping bag, out like a light," Dean reported unnecessarily. The angel was using the majority of his consciousness to keep watch over the humans sleeping among the joshua trees and brittlebush far below. The promised 'alone time' was really nothing more than an angelic daydream, but Dean could sense a little illicit thrill from Castiel. Like a high school honor student cutting class to make out in the janitor's closet, he thought, amused.

"Come on, Cas,' he chuckled. "It's not dereliction of duty if you take a break from monitoring the kid's blood pressure and respiration for a couple of minutes."

Castiel gave him a quizzical look. "I wasn't. Not to the extent that you are implying. The prophet is young and in excellent physical health. He does not require—"

Dean couldn't help it. He burst out laughing.

"Are you trying to imply that my diligence is excessive? Oh..." Castiel's frown eased as he caught on. "You're teasing."

"Just a little." Dean circled, reaching out to tousle Cas's hair affectionately. "Is it too lame to keep on pretending I know how to fly?"

"You should not disparage your ability," Castiel told him, deadpan. "You fly better than any other human being I have ever met."

"Now you're the one teasing."

"Just a little," the angel echoed, and leaned in to brush a soft kiss against his lips.

Dean watched his eyelids flutter closed as their mouths made contact. He cupped the side of Cas's face in his hand, parting his lips in encouragement, only to pull back abruptly. The last thing Dean saw before he tucked his wings in tight to his shoulders and plummeted back toward earth was Cas's crystal blue eyes, opened wide in surprise.

"Catch me if you can!" He pulled out of the dive and swooped into a big, looping arc. Cas followed, quickly catching up. Dean dipped a wing and turned and Cas kept pace with him effortlessly. All right, so there was no way he could out-fly the angel, but it was fun to put him through his paces. Dean did a barrel roll and Cas spun in a tight circle around him, the tips of his wings brushing against Dean's.

His fear was completely forgotten as he pushed himself to bank and turn and spiral through the night sky, trying to trick Castiel into making a wrong move, but he was right there at every turn, smiling broadly. Dean smiled back, feeling the angel's delight in the game, his innocent pleasure in the act of flight. It was all in good fun, Dean thought, but he'd lured Cas out for fun of a different sort.

He pulled up and hovered in the air, face to face with Castiel, and hooked a leg around the angel's hip to draw him in close, running tentative fingers through the silky soft feathers of his wings. The angel shivered at his touch and Dean's smile widened into a wicked grin. Emboldened, he took a double fistful of snowy white pinions and stroked them from the base of the quills to the tips. The response was disappointingly subdued and Dean realized Cas was shielding his reaction.

"Can't fool me, Cas," he chided, stroking the length of the feathers again. "You like that."

"Angels with undisciplined wings get passed over for promotion," he pointed out, his voice husky.

"Oh yeah?" Dean reached inside Cas's suit coat, running his fingers over his chest, then fisted them into his flight feathers again. "That ever happen to you?"

"Of course not. I was a model of discipline. Captain of my garrison." Cas hooked his fingers through Dean's belt loops, pulling him even closer.

"I don't know, Cas. All that regimentation sounds kind of boring," Dean murmured against his lips, giving his feathers another firm tug. This time he felt the shudder that ran down Cas's spine and out to the very tips of his wings. It took some effort to focus his thoughts after that, but Dean managed and in the next instant the angel's multiple layers of shirts and coats disappeared.

"Just the sort of opinion one would expect from such an unruly vessel," Castiel huffed, but there was an undertone of laughter and Dean felt a rush of cool night air against his suddenly bare skin.

...He really hoped this Kevin Tran kid was going to prophesy something useful. The world didn't need another full-frontal Winchester Gospel.

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: so yeah, I know that's a shitty place to break off, but I don't post 3,000 word chapters and the tone changes a bit after this, so there you go. Next update will be along speedy-quick so don't hate me too much. A little hate is fun, though... Drop me a line if you're feeling ranty. ;) <em>

_Big shout-out to the fabulous few, the proud, those who read and review:_ MadWithMusic, nani'anela, Zana Zira, reynard, Snailhair101, _and_ francybaguette. _I can't tell you how much I appreciate those notifications in my email box. They brighten my day! _


	19. Chapter 19

"Another Winchester Gospel would not be completely remiss. The Bible contains an entire collection of erotic poems."

Castiel apparently thought he was being helpful. Dean's snort turned into a yelp of fear as Cas dipped his wings and sent them falling, spinning, head over heels. Panic gripped him and he clung desperately to the angel… Which was Cas's plan all along, he realized.

"Dick," he accused, recovering himself.

"Assbu—" Castiel began, but Dean cut the affectionate insult off with a kiss.

Cas slowed them to a lazy tumble, his fingers finding their own grip in fistfuls of sleek, inky feathers, one wing curved around Dean's waist with surprising strength, keeping their hips locked together until Dean couldn't tell where he left off and Cas began. Was it his tongue tracing the soft contours of the angel's lips, his wings quivering beneath Cas's palms, or the other way around? It didn't matter, not when every press of lips to lips, every brush of fingertips and hips grinding against hips set off a new feedback loop of sensation.

Castiel's emotions flowed through his veins until Dean thought his heart might burst. It was too much, this undeserved outpouring of warmth and caring and affirmation. _Dammit, Cas._ Dean broke the kiss reluctantly, pulling away just far enough to look the angel in the eyes. He braced his wings, bringing them back to a stationary hover. "Dude. Come on," he muttered around the sudden lump in his throat, "this is just supposed to be fun."

Castiel's pupils were dilated, his eyes glazed with passion. It took a moment for them to focus. "You don't think this is fun?"

"No, of course I do. I do, Cas. It's awesome. Just, could you tone down the emotions? It's a little overwhelming. No, make that a lot overwhelming," Dean pleaded, embarrassed.

He frowned, clearly baffled. "I do not understand your distress. You wish for me to find our carnal intimacies less enjoyable? I don't think that's even possible."

Castiel's confusion and concern for him only added to the outpouring of love and devotion, as if the angel's grace was a searchlight exposing every dark, empty place inside of him. Dean's soul cringed with guilt under that relentless scrutiny. How could Cas know him so well and still feel as if he deserved anything?

Castiel pulled him close again, brushing their lips together in a tentative kiss, but sighed and drew back when Dean didn't respond. "Maybe if you can articulate what it is that I'm doing wrong..."

"You have all these crazy over-the-top emotions, Cas, and I'm stuck having to feel them too," Dean tried to explain.

"I'm sorry. I can't help it. You are a miracle of my Father's creation. A living—"

"_Don't_—"

"A living work of art," Cas went on doggedly. His fingertips caressed Dean's face, catching a tear that clung to his eyelashes and wiping it away tenderly. "You are my Father's own handiwork. It is only meet and right that I should express my adoration."

"Listen to yourself. Adoration?" Dean's voice was broken, the words coming out sharp-edged and jagged. "The first time you ever saw me, I was in hell." He shrugged off Cas's hands and wrapped his wings around his body as a rush of shame overwhelmed him. Painful as it was, the wave of cold reality was oddly comforting as it washed away the searing light and heat of Cas's affection. "You've got it all wrong. I'm the guy who started the apocalypse. The guy who left his brother to face Lucifer all on his own. I'm no miracle, Cas. I'm a freakin' catastrophe."

"No, Dean, you're the one who's got it all wrong," Castiel whispered, but Dean had already withdrawn deep into his subconscious mind, barricaded behind walls of defiance and denial. Biting back a deep growl of frustration, Castiel balled his hands into fists, flexing his grace uselessly. Broken necks and bullet holes, he could heal, but it seemed some wounds of the human spirit were beyond his power. All he could do was release Dean's stubbornly pent-up tears to fall freely from his vessel's eyes.

* * *

><p>"We've got canned pineapple and white rice. I think for dinner tonight we'll have sweet and sour SPAM," Linda Tran announced, sifting through a carton of looted food supplies.<p>

"Oh, yay." Kevin's tone was sarcastic. "I just love SPAM."

"I'm glad to hear it, because we've got two more cases of SPAM in the SUV," his mother retorted.

"During the prophet Elijah's time in the desert, he was fed bread by ravens," Castiel offered, annoyingly cheery.

"Weird. I'll take the SPAM," Kevin said.

_Apparently prophets are easier to please than uppity vessels_.

Dean rolled his eyes. By unspoken accord, he and Cas had opted to stay out of one another's way today. Not an easy prospect when they shared a single body, but it was better than enduring a discussion about last night's debacle. The uncomfortable situation reminded Dean of childhood arguments with Sam, when they'd drawn an imaginary line down the middle of the back seat and then sniped over it until John Winchester had had to resort to the classic dad threat of, "_Do you want me to stop this car?_"

"You think raven-delivered bread was weird, John the Baptist subsisted on locusts and wild honey. And the prophets Moses and Aaron ate nothing but manna in the desert." Castiel continued his lecture on the dietary habits of prophets of days gone by.

"Wasn't Moses the one who wandered around the Sinai Peninsula for forty years?" Jane chimed in.

"Forty _years_?" Kevin's voice cracked. He looked at Castiel—and by extension, Dean—with reproach. "I thought you said forty days was standard!"

"We're not going to be out here for forty years." Dean took charge. "Come on kiddo, history lesson's over."

* * *

><p>He had to give garrison protocol some credit. Their little camp in the middle of the desert was peaceful. No Croats for miles in any direction. In spite of how remote the place was, they'd still managed to find a fence line, weathered wood and rusty barbed wire that looked as if it had been standing out among the joshua trees and cactus for the last hundred years.<p>

Dean set up empty tin cans on fence posts. "So, this prophecy thing. You get headaches or nightmares or what?" he prompted.

"Um, no, more like seizures," Kevin grimaced. "At first, Mom thought it was stress. Michigan got hit hard by the Croatoan virus. The town we lived in, Neighbor, was overrun by zombies, so we were staying in a safe zone outside Ann Arbor."

"That's rough," Dean said.

"It wasn't so bad." Kevin shrugged philosophically. "But yeah, I was having these, like, seizures and babbling about damned souls with black eyes. Crazy, right? So we all figured it was just stress, until one day Channing's eyes turned black."

"Channing?"

Kevin scuffed a toe in the sand. "She was my, um, girlfriend. Or was, until she tried to kill me."

"Aw, man, that sucks." Dean was at a loss for better words of sympathy to offer the kid, but he figured a little target practice would provide a decent distraction for the sheltered high school student.

Half an hour later, Kevin had gotten the hang of shooting empty SPAM cans off of fence posts with Dean's old Colt model M1911A1 pistol.

"This is fun," the kid admitted, beaming.

"The super-soaker full of holy water was clever," Dean acknowledged, "but knowing how to shoot a weapon that fires actual bullets is a useful skill to have, too. And it's fun," he grinned back. _Some of us know how to have fun_, he couldn't resist adding for Cas's benefit.

Kevin's forehead wrinkled with worry and Dean was about to comment on his apparent ability to overhear his and Cas's silent conversations when the teenager passed the pistol back to him with exaggerated care.

"Kev? You all right?"

He shook his head. "I think I'm about to have another God-seizure."

Dean had to forcibly hold Castiel back from rushing to Kevin's side. _Give the kid a little space, Cas,_ he scolded. To Kevin, Dean said, "You want to maybe sit down, kiddo? We don't want you to keel over on top of a cactus."

Kevin flashed Dean a tense smile, but an instant later his head tipped back and his features went slack. They watched with alarm as the prophet's back arched. A wind kicked up, sending a miniature whirlwind of dust and sand swirling around their legs, and a tumbleweed rolled past. Kevin rose up into the air, his toes barely brushing the ground. His eyes began to glow, white light beaming eerily from their sockets.

"Crap," Dean muttered.

Kevin's body slumped and fell without warning, but Castiel took over and swooped in to catch him. The angel and his vessel cradled the young prophet in their arms. Kevin's eyes still held traces of that unearthly glow. He blinked up at Dean, slowly focusing on his face.

"And lo, when the Hunter's Moon doth shine upon the Place of Palms," Kevin intoned, "the Wayward Son shall walk within the Jaws of the Mouse."

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: ooh, look, a prophecy. I like to think it strikes the right balance between incomprehensible gibberish and useful information. Actually, this is an exciting moment for me because I'm launching my first ever CONTEST. Dun, dun, DUN! That's right, guess the meaning of the prophecy and win a valuable prize. <em>

_Oh yeah, baby, first posted review with the correct interpretation of Kevin's first prophecy is the winner. Be sure to log in to review or at least leave a user-name so I can contact you with the details of how to collect your prize. _

_Mandatory disclaimer: No, a weekend with Dean Winchester on a Brazilian nude beach is NOT the prize. Nor is pie. Okay, so the prize isn't actually valuable. Whatever. Leave a review anyway. _

_And speaking of... Love, love, LOVE to_ nani'anela, Zana Zira, francybaguette, _and_ Snailhair101 _for their generous reviews. _


	20. Chapter 20

_Author's note: I swear I wrote all of this before reading any contest reviews. It's kind of eerie how accurate some of you were!_

* * *

><p><em>The prophet is well<em>—Castiel assessed the teenager sprawled unconscious in Dean's arms—_merely sleeping off the after-effects of his vision._

"Good. Let's get him back to camp." Dean gave a mental shake of his head as Cas automatically unfurled their wings. "We can walk. Give the kid a couple of minutes to to collect himself before Tiger Mom Tran starts fussing over him." Suiting action to words, he started walking, picking a path among the rocks.

Kevin mumbled against his shoulder after a few minutes. "...Mom?"

"Take it easy," Dean shushed him. "Your mom's fine. You're both safe." Kevin mumbled something incoherent and relaxed.

_The prophet seems to have a definite preference for you, even though he is my responsibility._ Dean could hear a trace of hurt in the angel's voice.

"It's not personal, Cas. Guess I'm just the good cop in this scenario."

"Put me down," Kevin groaned, the words audible now. "I'll be okay... Just got to walk it off."

Dean stopped and set the teenager on his feet. Kevin swayed, eyes still largely unfocused, and he wrapped an arm around him, supporting his weight and guiding his stumbling footsteps.

Castiel wasn't willing to let it go. _Good cop, bad cop... I am familiar with that reference. But why am I the bad cop? If the two of us really were in law enforcement, you would be the more likely one to engage in police brutality._

Dean couldn't help but chuckle at the sincerity of Cas's assessment. This coming from the guy who thinks he adores me, he thought dryly. "Point taken, Cas, but I'm not the one insisting Kevin spend forty days in the desert having seizures for Jesus."

_He will not be spending forty days here after all_, Castiel replied with assurance. _Mrs. Tran was right about his ability to rapidly discern the word of God._

"So that stuff about the moon and the palms might actually be something useful?" Dean felt a little flare of hope and even Kevin seemed to perk up, lifting his head and leaning less heavily against him.

_Yes. Extremely useful, if we can interpret it correctly._

* * *

><p>"And lo, when the Hunter's Moon doth shine upon the Place of Palms, the Wayward Son shall walk within the Jaws of the Mouse," Mrs. Tran read aloud from a yellow legal pad where she'd recorded the words her son had said after every prophetic seizure episode.<p>

Dean, reading over her shoulder, saw that with the benefit of hindsight the rest of the Tran Prophecies could be easily interpreted as variations on a theme of, 'Help! Demons coming to get me!' The demons obviously hadn't bargained on the indomitable Mrs. Tran.

"Well, the Wayward Son bit is easy enough. That's obviously my brother," Dean said, his voice dropping into a deeper register on the last syllables.

_My brother,_ Castiel's voice echoed inside his head.

"Shut up, Cas. The Wayward Son is Sam—"

"—ifer," Castiel concluded, wrestling control of their vocal cords away from Dean.

"Samifer?" Kevin blinked in confusion.

"_You_ shut up, Dean." Castiel tried again. "It is clearly a reference to Luci—"

"Sammy," Dean insisted, stubborn.

"Oh my god, both of you shut up. It's six of one, half-dozen of the other," Jane scoffed, "because Sam is Lucifer's vessel."

"Your brother is a vessel, too? The devil's vessel?" Mrs. Tran gave Dean a look of supreme skepticism. "You're telling me he actually consented to that?"

"It's a long story," Dean told her. "Focus, people. We can figure this out. The Hunter's Moon, that's common lore."

"Of course. It's the name given to one of the full moons," Mrs. Tran said. "One of the ones that occur in autumn, I think."

"October," Dean said excitedly. She'd jogged his memory. "If we had a Farmer's Almanac we could get the exact date."

Castiel made some mental calculations, mathematical and astronomical symbols streaming across Dean's mind's eye, too fast for him to follow.

"October eighth," he supplied in less than a second, "with moonrise taking place any time from 7:22pm Eastern to 6:46pm Pacific… Assuming the prophecy concerns a location in the continental United States," he added solemnly.

_You go, Cas_, Dean told him, impressed as usual by the angel's encyclopedic knowledge of, well, everything. "So if we're right about Lucifer and the Harvest Moon, we know when the bastard's going to turn up next. Now all we need is where." He couldn't believe it. In less than a month, he could be reunited with Sam. Or they could both be dead, he reminded himself, trying not to get too carried away.

"The Place of Palms, within the Jaws of the Mouse," Mrs. Tran repeated, reading from her tablet.

"So, somewhere with palm trees and and a rodent infestation?" Jane nudged Kevin in the ribs. "It's the zombie apocalypse! You been in a hot zone lately, kid? There's almost more rats running around than Croats. You couldn't prophesy something a little more specific?" she joked.

"You try getting specific details while your brain's shorting out," Kevin countered. "But palms could be talking about either trees or hands."

"Don't over-think it. Many place names reference palm trees. Palm Springs? That's not far from here," said Mrs. Tran.

"Where the hell do mice fit in?" Dean's voice was gruff with impatience. Obscure references and odd bits of lore had always been Sam's forte. The thought only increased his agitation. It wasn't like Sam was available to research his own damned rescue attempt.

"Anaheim?" Jane said hesitantly. "Jaws of the Mouse, that could mean Disneyland. You know. Mickey Mouse," she said defensively as Kevin frowned.

"I did not have a vision about Mickey Mouse."

"The answer will come to us," Castiel spoke up, his expression serene. "When my Father sends out His word it always accomplishes His intent."

Mrs. Tran stood up. "Go gather some firewood, boys," she ordered briskly. "I'm going to whip up a big batch of sweet and sour SPAM."

* * *

><p>"Orlando, Florida, maybe?" Jane continued to promote her theory over dinner around the campfire. She speared a piece of pineapple with her fork and chewed contemplatively. "I'm telling you, Disney World... Jaws of the Mouse."<p>

"I did not have a vision about Mickey Mouse!" The Prophet of the Lord was affronted. His voice cracked.

"Well, what other famous mouse is there?" Jane asked reasonably.

"I don't know, but Mickey Mouse is just stupid. Disney's got nothing to do with the apocalypse. I mean, you might as well say Dean and Cas are going to battle Lucifer in a Chuck E. Cheese's in Palm Beach."

"Palm Beach…" The name struck a chord with Dean. He frowned, trying to remember its significance.

_The Palm Beach County Coroner's Office,_ Castiel supplied. _For some reason_ y_ou have fond memories of that place._ Dean could see the angel's puzzled expression in his mind's eye.

_Cas, stop sifting through my memories. You've got to let me have some personal space,_ Dean protested.

_But Dean, why would you have a sentimental attachment to a location where autopsies were performed?_ Castiel prodded, ignoring Dean's objection. _Were mice involved?_ he asked seriously.

_What? No. Why would I have a sentimental attachment to mice?_ Dean thought it over. _I remember now. I worked a job in Palm Beach. Vengeful spirit. Oh, and Bobbi Jo,_ he reminisced, smiling at the memory. _Or maybe her name was Bobbi Sue? Anyway,_ s_he was the receptionist at the county Coroner's Office,_ he told Cas dreamily. _She was hot._

Kevin gave an exaggerated cough. "Awkward," he muttered.

Dean reminded himself to have a talk with the prophet about his apparent ability to tune in to his and Cas's conversations, but just now he had more pressing concerns on his mind. "Palm Beach County, Florida," he announced. "What's the connection between Palm Beach and the Jaws of the Mouse?"

The question was met with silence at first, then, "Boca Raton!" exclaimed Mrs. Tran.

"What?" Kevin asked.

"Boca Raton. It's a city in Florida. The name comes from the old Spanish explorers. Boca Raton literally means 'mouse mouth'."

"Dean? You okay?" Jane asked him.

"Yeah, I'm great. Mark your calendars," he said grimly. "October eighth, Boca Raton… We're going to get Sammy back."

* * *

><p><em>Annnnd another author's note: I am just blown away by the response to my little contest. You guys came up with some really, really cool interpretations. I am honored to have such creative, intelligent people reading this fic. In hindsight, the location was really tricky, requiring some pretty obscure knowledge to figure out. Everybody who took a stab at the prophecy got some of it right, but<em> Zana Zira _nailed it...She is the winner! _

_Also, I want to note that even though Dean has his opinion, everyone who speculated that the 'Wayward Son' was Dean himself (or Cas, or Sam, or Lucifer) is right, too. Funny how that works out. ;) _

_Thank you to everyone who has followed, favorited, and left such fantastically nice reviews, particularly_ Fallen-Angel-Spirit, RunYouCleverBoyAndRememberMe, nani'anela, 'guest', Snailhair101, MadWithMusic, Zana Zira, _and_ Kaotsu. _Thank you, everyone! _


	21. Chapter 21

The instant when Dean let go of consciousness was always a relief. His vessel's pain was difficult for Castiel to bear. Dean's memories of the tortures he'd endured in hell hurt Castiel more than his own experiences of 'purification' in heaven. Not, he was absolutely sure, because demons were better at inflicting pain than angels, but simply because of some quirk of humanity. Dean would rather suffer agony than witness his brother Sam in pain, and so it was with Castiel and his vessel.

In the days since the Prophet had revealed the Word of God Dean had set a grueling pace, watching over the vehicle bringing Kevin Tran, the prophet's mother, and Jane back across the country from the prophet's sojourn in the desert; meeting with Chuck Shurley and others at Camp Chitaqua to plan Sam's rescue; and scouting every possible meeting place and route into and out of Boca Raton… All nearly simultaneously. Castiel's store of grace was sufficient to allow him to juggle the three missions almost indefinitely, but the tasks were taking a toll on Dean.

Case in point, Dean had just passed out while they'd been scouting an abandoned hotel in Boca Raton. The surrounding streets were crawling with Croats, making it an ideal spot for a base of operations, from Lucifer's twisted point of view. Castiel finished scanning the building, committing its floor plan to memory before entering his vessel's subconscious to find Dean curled on the floor of one of the hotel's conference rooms. The angel sighed as he knelt over his unruly vessel. Thick eyelashes fanned over the sprinkling of freckles that stood out in sharp contrast to the pallor of Dean's cheeks. Even haggard and wan from his exertions, Castiel thought reverently, Dean Winchester was a marvel of his Father's creation. Then he looked closer and frowned. Dean's perfectly shaped lips were parted, allowing a strand of saliva to drop from his mouth and puddle on the floor in the corner of the room he'd chosen in which to lose consciousness... And Dean accused _Castiel_ of being literal.

It would be easier on both of them, and far more efficient, for Castiel to continue their tasks on his own once Dean passed out. After all, Dean was Michael's chosen vessel, designed from the moment of his conception to house the archangel, and therefore far more sturdy than a comparatively lowly seraph such as Castiel required. A few weeks or even months of hard use would not damage him unduly, but to do so would be a betrayal of trust, one Castiel knew Dean would not readily forgive.

And it was not just the notion of being left vacant and drooling in some corner of his subconscious that his vessel objected to either, Castiel knew. Dean wanted to endure the suffering Castiel's angelic methods inflicted on his fragile human consciousness. The frenetic pace of their preparations was yet another of Dean's attempts to atone for sins both real and imagined. His vessel needed the pain, needed to be an active participant, and so Castiel mentally lifted Dean from his corner and cradled him in his arms with murmured words of reassurance before turning the larger portion of his consciousness outward and flying them both back to Camp Chitaqua on sable wings edged with chrome.

Castiel untied his vessel's boots and loosened the laces, toeing them off as he'd learned to do from Dean. He slipped out of his vessel's denim trousers and put their shared body into Dean's bed, securing Dean's knife in its sheath on the bedside table and placing Dean's pistol beneath the pillow, just as his vessel preferred it. Finally, he pulled up the covers and tucked his vessel in before extending his angelic senses out over Camp Chitaqua and beyond to where Jane and the prophet's mother, Linda Tran, were trading driving duties on the last leg of the journey back to the camp. Castiel felt a deep sense of peace settle over him as he scanned the road ahead of them, preparing the way for the Prophet of the Lord. Satisfied that there were no roving bands of Croats, demons, or other obstacles between Kevin Tran and Camp Chitaqua, Castiel spread metaphorical and metaphysical wings out over the sleeping camp. All was well with the human beings for whom he had taken responsibility.

...Until his stubborn, beautiful, _maddening_ vessel stirred, letting out a strained, stifled whimper. A nightmare, Castiel saw as he slipped into Dean's subconscious mind. Another betrayal of trust—his vessel frequently insisted on boundaries and bubbles of personal space—but one easily justified, in Castiel's infinitely wise celestial opinion. Dean needed a restful night's sleep.

The angel peered around the dingy motel room, so like the hundreds of others the brothers Winchester had shared over the years, but this one was in Dean's distant past, so far back that Castiel was sure the hunter had no conscious memory of the place. Sam was barely a toddler, fussing on a blanket laid down over the grimy wall-to-wall carpet. Castiel ascertained immediately that the diminutive Sam Winchester was suffering from a mild upper respiratory infection in addition to the normal early childhood discomfort of teething. An elderly woman who'd long since traded in her own teeth for a set of poorly-fitting dentures dozed in front of the old-fashioned console television. At least John Winchester had provided a caretaker for his sons, no matter how negligent she might be.

Castiel watched as five-year-old Dean shouldered the burden of caring for his brother. He'd derailed the nightmare and now was simply replaying the memory, but Castiel reasoned that since Dean had no conscious knowledge of this bit of mental detritus, he couldn't object to Castiel viewing it. He watched as John Winchester returned, quickly paying off the babysitter and ushering her out the door.

And no wonder, the angel thought, seeing the hunter's haunted expression, the blood-soaked shirt concealed beneath his leather jacket, the horror still vivid in his mind. He'd killed the monster, but not before humans had died and he himself had been wounded. John avoided his oldest son's embrace. Castiel watched the hurt in Dean's eyes and in his innocent child's heart turn to understanding as his father took a first aid kit into the bathroom and started patching up the gash across his ribs.

"It's okay, Dad." The little boy alternated between passing gauze bandages and antiseptic to his father and entertaining his fussy, messy-nosed little brother. "Sammy's cranky 'cause we ran out of Anbesol."

"I've got something that'll work just as well." John had poured a double shot of whiskey into a bathroom tumbler and was making short work of knocking it back. He picked up the toddler, dipped a finger in the liquor, and rubbed it on little Sammy's gums. Whether the remedy actually worked, or whether the child was simply soothed by John pacing with him cradled against his shoulder, Sam soon fell asleep. "Bedtime, Dean."

Castiel followed the little blond boy into the bathroom, tilting his head in confusion when green eyes met his in the mirror.

"What's your name?" Dean asked calmly, as if encounters with angels were commonplace.

"I am Castiel, Angel of the Lord." The trust he'd established with his vessel must have seeped into even the deepest recesses of Dean's subconscious mind, Castiel reasoned, and found himself inordinately pleased with the thought.

"That's a long name," his vessel's young self said solemnly.

"My best friend calls me Cas. You may do so as well, if you prefer," Castiel told him with equal solemnity. He watched as Dean spread toothpaste on a child-sized toothbrush and brushed his teeth, but mindful of adult Dean's admonitions about privacy and creepiness, he left the room while the child changed into pajamas.

"Dad?"

"I told you already, Dean, go to bed." John's voice was brusque and faintly slurred. He'd abandoned the tumbler somewhere during his pacing and was leaning up against the headboard of the bed, drinking directly from the bottle now, Sam curled up asleep beside him, snoring softly through his stuffed-up nose.

In that moment Castiel felt a swift rush of righteous wrath at John Winchester, but Dean just climbed onto the other bed. "Will you tuck me in, Cas? Dad's too tired from hunting monsters."

"Of course." The angel pulled the covers up and arranged them with fastidious care before placing a chaste kiss on the little boy's forehead. "Goodnight, Dean."

"'Night, Cas."

Castiel let the memory go, first withdrawing from his vessel's mind, then letting a part of his angelic consciousness hover over the bed and give the adult Dean the same gentle, feather-soft kiss.

"Personal space, Cas," Dean mumbled.

Castiel smiled. "Goodnight, Dean."

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: Whew, it's been a while, huh? And then I update with random Wee!chesters from Cas's POV. I don't even know what I'm doing with my life. <em>

_You should all just run right away and read _nani'anela_'s adorable and hilarious fic _Roommates_, which was inspired by this silly story of mine. Stalk her profile or find it in my favorite stories list, you won't be disappointed!_

_Many thanks to_ MadWithMusic, Cerulea, Snailhair101, Zana Zira, nani'anela, Fallen-Angel-Spirit, RunYouCleverBoyAndRememberMe, _and_ 'Guest' _for taking the time to leave the reviews that feed my soooouuuul._


	22. Chapter 22

_October 1st, Camp Chitaqua:_

"You know, there's plenty of room in this vehicle for one more," Annie said as they worked on the ambulance. Annie was painting devil's traps, seals of Solomon, and Enochian sigils on every available surface while Dean checked under the hood, giving the engine a final tune-up for the trip to Boca Raton.

"We've been over this," Dean said patiently. "If something goes wrong, the survivors here are humanity's last hope. They'll need an experienced hunter. Hell, I feel guilty for taking the veterinarian. Amelia's the closest thing Chitaqua's got to a doctor."

"Don't feel guilty," Annie retorted. "You've got to bring Sam back alive. If he doesn't make it Lucifer will just resurrect him and then we'll all be screwed."

* * *

><p><em>October 8th, 7:00 PM, Boca Raton, Florida:<em>

"Well, it's obvious where Lucifer is holed up this time." Dean pointed to the map spread out on the hood of the ambulance. "The Renaissance Hotel. Place is crawling with Croats."

"And demons," Castiel intoned in his gravelly baritone, speaking out loud for Amelia and Mikey's benefit.

"We'll meet up with you back here," Dean went on, "but if you have to navigate out of here on your own—"

"I know, man, I know," Mikey said cheerfully. "Avoid the hot spots and drive hell-bent for leather." The stoner laid a hand over his heart. "I'm here for you Dean. You too, Cas. Stone-cold sober and ready to burn rubber."

"Good man," Dean grinned at him, his head nodding as Castiel gave his own solemn agreement. Dean turned to the woman standing quietly by the passenger-side door.

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be," she said firmly before he could say anything.

"All right, let's go kick some ass!"

With a rustle of chrome-tipped feathers, Castiel took them winging skyward. _I do not share your optimism_, he murmured as they flew over the abandoned city.

"Who you callin' optimistic?" Dean quipped. If he was honest, the thought of going up against Lucifer again was daunting, terrifying if he was _really_ honest, but he was determined to take the chance to get his brother back. "The 'rah, rah, rah' was for the troops," he admitted.

_Not entirely. This is not like Kansas City. You do not believe this to be a suicide mission._

"And that's a good thing. Think about it for a minute. You were resurrected. Hell, you practically had to resurrect me… You brought me back from the brink of death, anyway. You, Cas, a fallen angel! Where'd you get the grace to manage that, huh?"

_It is correct that I have not seemed to be cut off from heaven_. The angel had to agree with his vessel's logic.

"That's huge, Cas," Dean insisted. "That means somebody up there is on our side. And then we get a freakin' Prophet of the Lord telling us the exact place and time to find the devil? I'm telling you, Cas, this is going to work." Dean put as much faith and encouragement as he could behind the words, knowing the angel would feel his emotions.

Castiel stretched out his heavenly perceptions to where the full moon—the Hunter's Moon—was just peeking over the horizon, concealed from his vessel's sight by the line of high-rise buildings along the coast. The angel honed in on the minimal details Dean's human consciousness could comprehend without distress and gave him a glimpse of it.

_Let's go kick some ass_, he deadpanned.

* * *

><p><em>October 8th, 7:22 PM, Renaissance Boca Raton Hotel:<em>

With a blast of grace, Castiel burst through the window of the suite and touched down lightly on the plush carpet, sword in hand, ebony wings spreading wide in a display of aggression. As angel and vessel had planned, Cas was in complete control of Dean's body, anticipating angelic combat with the fallen archangel.

Lucifer looked their way impassively, showing no more surprise at the sudden intrusion than an arched eyebrow. He was dressed in the same immaculate white suit Dean remembered from Kansas City, though this time the flower in his lapel was a brilliant tropical bloom.

"Castiel," he said coldly, "and in my brother's vessel, no less. Dressing above your station, aren't you?"

"Sam!" Dean called out. He'd retained control of his voice, also as planned. "Sammy, I'm here. We're here, me and Cas, to take you home. Come on, Sam, fight the bastard off! You can do it!" It hurt to see his brother again, with eyes and voice so familiar and yet alien and cold under Lucifer's control. Dean pushed the emotion aside.

The Morning Star barked out an incredulous laugh. "You allow the hairless ape to speak? I suppose it was its idea to desecrate your wings, too. Oh, Castiel. This is the best entertainment I've had in months. I'm really going to enjoy cutting out your heart."

"We're not here to talk to you," Dean sneered, "you flying Good Humor man. We're here for Sam—"

Lucifer flicked his wrist and his angelic blade materialized in his hand. Brilliant white wings unfurled with a rustle and a snap. An instant later the ceiling blasted apart, along with the entire top floors of the building, revealing the dark sky. Castiel immediately took off, spiraling high above the city. Dean caught a glimpse of the Hunter's Moon rising above the coast before he remembered his role.

"Fight him, Sammy! You can do it!"

Lucifer caught up to Cas in less than a heartbeat and the two fallen angels' blades chimed melodically as the Morning Star pressed a fierce attack. Dean bit back a gasp of pain as Lucifer's sword got past Cas's guard and cut a deep gash along Dean's arm, opening the flesh from shoulder to elbow. Castiel tucked his wings in tight and plummeted, a move that would have had Dean flailing in terror just a few weeks ago, but the hunter maintained his composure, trusting in his angel.

"That the best you got, you chickenshit?" he taunted as the rubble of the blasted building rushed up to meet them.

Castiel pulled out of the dive at the last second, leaving a spatter of blood on the broken concrete, and spun to meet Lucifer's next attack.

"Sam, I know you're in there. I know you can hear me. Kick his ass out!"

The angel blades clashed and chimed and Dean had to stifle another pained sound as another gash opened across his chest as if by magic, the Morning Star's blade flicking out faster than Dean's eye could follow, faster than Castiel's blade could parry.

Sam's hazel eyes locked on Dean's, his face twisted into a cruel sneer that Dean had never seen on his brother, no matter how furious and frustrated Sam might have been.

"That's not you, Sammy. Come on, it's me, Dean," he pleaded, but Lucifer just smiled, the expression like an obscene mask of his brother's face as he feinted and slashed.

The swords chimed musically, Castiel parrying every attack, and Lucifer's smile widened. He was toying with them, Dean realized. "Fuck you, you flying ass-monkey," he bellowed, defiant. "Come on, Sam!"

The Morning Star raised two fingers toward Dean's forehead and a blinding white light burst forth.

* * *

><p><em>October 8th, 7:24 PM, Jackson County Sanitarium, Kansas City, Missouri:<em>

"Fuck you, you flying ass-monkey!" Dean bellowed, and cocked back his fist. The balding, middle-aged man on the floor beneath him cowered and whimpered in terror, but all Dean saw was Lucifer, wearing his little brother's face.

"Dean!" Strong arms wrapped around him, hauling him off the other patient. "Come on, man, chill out," Mikey's voice soothed as he pinned him to the floor.

"Fight him, Sammy, fight him!" Dean thrashed against the orderly, but the man was a human straitjacket, holding him down as the other patient scrambled out of reach.

"A little help, here?" Mikey panted.

Annie rushed over from the nurses' station, a syringe in hand, and dropped to her knees beside them. Dean felt the pinch of the needle sliding into his arm and let out another furious, incoherent bellow, but it was too late. He sprawled on the linoleum-tiled floor, muscles going slack as the powerful sedative began to take effect.

"Sammy…" he slurred.

"What a shame. I really thought he was making progress on the new medication," the nurse murmured.

"Me, too, but then he just went batshit on poor Al, there." Mikey shook his head.

"Dr. Richardson is not going to be happy when she hears about this."

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: 100 reviews! Yay! Here, have a speedy update. Shout out to my lovely reviewers<em> Zana Zira, nani'anela, RunYouCleverBoyAndRememberMe, Snailhair101, Fallen-Angel-Spirit, _and_ OneCutePug. _Thanks for reading and especially for reviewing!_


	23. Chapter 23

"Son of a bitch." Dean's head throbbed. He cracked his eyes open and saw nothing but white. White ceiling tiles, white walls, a white blanket neatly folded back across his chest, revealing the crisp, white sheet beneath. A framed picture of a tropical flower on the wall across from the bed provided the only color in the room. Dean moved, intending to get up, but something held him fast under the blanket. Restraints, he realized after a moment of panic. "Lucifer..."

"Dean, this is your brother, Sam. You know that," the brunette in the white doctor's coat said calmly.

"What are you supposed to be? Some sort of shrink? You're a veterinarian, sweetheart," Dean scoffed, hiding his rising panic. "If you're going to play dress-up you should go for 'sexy nurse' next time."

"Dean!" Lucifer glared at him, appalled, and the expression was so familiar, so like Sam's, that Dean's stomach gave a lurch. "Dr. Richardson is one of the best psychiatrists in the state!" Lucifer scolded.

"Save it, Lucifer. As hallucinations go, this one isn't even all that believable."

"Doctor, would you mind letting me speak to my brother alone?"

"I don't know that that's the best idea, Sam. He's still agitated," she said softly.

"Please, Dr. Richardson."

Again, Dean felt his stomach give another lurch. Lucifer looked so sincere, so much like Sam with those pleading eyes that he had to fight back tears.

"All right," Dr. Richardson said, "but only for a few minutes."

"Dean, it's me, Sam," he said once the woman had left the room. "Yes, Lucifer is here with me, but I'm the one speaking to you. Come on, man." He gave a soft snort of exasperated laughter. "If you ever want to get out of here and come home you've got to stop telling civilians your brother is being possessed by the devil."

"This isn't real," Dean argued, defiant.

"You've got it backwards, Dean. My relationship with Lucifer is real. This weird, paranoid insistence of yours that he's evil and controlling me, that's the hallucination." He moved out of Dean's line of sight, reaching for something on the bedside table.

"Look at this, Dean. Would the devil resurrect Mom and Dad? Doesn't seem very evil at all, does it?"

He held the framed photograph close. Dean's eyes narrowed when he saw that it was a picture of their mother and father. A current picture of the two of them smiling, their arms around a grown-up Sam. "That's not possible," he breathed, his voice catching in his throat.

"They miss you, Dean. They're so torn up over this psychosis of yours—"

"So get your buddy Lucifer to fix it," Dean taunted. "Shouldn't be too hard for a freakin' archangel to fix up my melon, so why hasn't he, if I've really had some nervous breakdown? Huh?"

"We've been over this, Dean, don't you remember? Consent isn't just for vessels. As long as you persist in this delusion of yours that Lucifer is out to destroy us…" He sighed. "He can't heal you if you refuse to let him." He moved closer and Dean could see the telltale brightness of tears in his eyes. "Please, Dean, you've got to cooperate with Dr. Richardson and the rest of the staff."

Dean could feel his own eyes welling with tears at the touch of his brother's hand. And it _was_ Sam's hand, he told himself, even if Lucifer was controlling it. But the picture he'd seen made him want to believe the illusion that Lucifer wasn't holding Sam prisoner in his own body, that they were sharing, equals, the way he'd shared himself with… Michael? He shook his head, trying to clear it. No, that wasn't right. Hadn't he refused to be Michael's vessel?

...Or had he said yes?

Lucifer was holding the family photograph in view again and Dean pushed the troubling thought aside to give it a closer look. Their dad and mom, alive…Together with Sam, all of them happy and smiling. What if it was real? What if he was the only one keeping their whole family from being together?

"Michael!" he prayed hoarsely, straining against the straps holding him down. Michael was his angel, wasn't he? "Michael, I could use a little help about now."

"Michael is gone. He ran away, back to heaven with the other angels, and honestly, Dean, the world is better off without them."

"No," Dean argued again. "He wouldn't leave me."

"Stop it." His brother's face was full of pity. "Can't you hear how ridiculous you sound? You were never Michael's vessel, Dean. There was never anything between you," he said softly. "I mean, I get it, Dean. You had a breakdown when I said yes to Lucifer. You're insanely jealous of what the two of us have. Well, I'm sorry, but you've got to let it go. You're not special, you'll never have the bond that Lucifer and I share, but just think, you could have a normal life. No more hunting, our family intact... Can't that be enough for you?"

"Sam." Dr. Richardson reappeared in the doorway. "Dean needs to rest."

"All right." He nodded, resigned. "Goodbye, Dean. I'll try and visit again soon."

Left alone in the room, Dean couldn't stop the tears that rolled down his face. "I don't know what's real anymore," he prayed. He had memories of being a vessel, an orchard of pink blossoms and the wind rushing past his wings, but jumbled in among them were other, darker images, a circle of unyielding granite and shards of broken glass. Had Michael really abandoned him? It didn't seem right that his angel would leave him… Unless Sam was right, and he'd never been Michael's vessel at all.

"Michael, come on, dude. If you answer, I'll know this is all just a trick...Michael," Dean called. "Michael?"

* * *

><p>"What's up with that guy?" Dean asked the white-uniformed orderly keeping an eye on the patients in the dayroom.<p>

"Creepy, isn't he?" The orderly, Mikey, said with callous cheeriness, as if the patient parked in his wheelchair couldn't hear him.

"So he's, what? Catatonic?" Considering the guy's vacant stare and the thin strand of drool trailing from the corner of his mouth, it seemed probable that even if he could hear them, he wouldn't care, Dean decided.

"Yeah. Sad, isn't it? Dean Winchester, meet Jimmy Novak," Mikey said. "Anybody tries to tell you _you're_ a headcase, buddy, you can just point to poor old Jimmy, here. He's been in and out of this joint for years. Last suicide attempt left him pretty much brain dead."

"Poor bastard." Dean regarded the patient with a mixture of pity and gratitude, grateful he wasn't beyond hope of recovery like this guy. A raised pink line of scar tissue began just behind Jimmy Novak's temple and carved a curved line across the side of his skull, visible in the messy halo of his dark hair. "Geez, what'd they do, Mikey, lobotomize him?"

"What? Dude, this ain't some horror movie! Jackson County's one of the best facilities in the country! Man, you're lucky you got a big-shot brother that can pay for it," the orderly protested. "Nah, this numb-nuts jumped out a window, landed on his head. They had to do surgery, you know, cut open his skull to try and relieve pressure on the brain. Obviously, it didn't work so good."

Dean turned back to the television, unnerved by Jimmy Novak's vacant, blue-eyed stare . "Poor bastard," he said again.

"Yeah, well, maybe it's not so bad. At least now the guy is at peace."

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: Hope I'm not freaking y'all out too badly. Hang in there! You know I can only stand to torment the poor guys for just so long. Many thanks to <em>OneCutePug, Snailhair101, nani'anela, Zana Zira, _and_ ILikeCheeseBiscuits _for reviewing, and thank you to all for reading! _


	24. Chapter 24

"Hey, Jimmy," Dean greeted the catatonic patient casually as he passed him in the hall. As the days passed, he'd gotten used to seeing the man sitting motionless in his wheelchair, wearing his usual blank expression.

Dr. Richardson regarded Dean thoughtfully a few minutes later as he sat across from her in her office. "Nurse Hawkins reports you've been doing very well these past few days, Dean."

"No more hallucinations," he assured her.

"Hmm," she murmured, noncommittal. "And how do you feel about your brother?"

"He's my brother," Dean said. "I love him. What else do you want me to say?"

"This isn't about telling me what you think I want to hear. This is about you and Sam. You can be honest. Your little brother is a successful lawyer, well-off financially, influential. I hear he's even considering campaigning for political office soon. Are you trying to tell me you're not just a little bit jealous?"

"No. Why would I be?"

"Well, honestly, Dean, why _wouldn't_ you be? Look at you, high school drop-out, an unemployed drifter with a police record for credit card fraud, and that was before you wound up institutionalized." She shook her head, her expression pitying. "Frankly, if Sam does run for office, you'll be nothing but an embarrassment to him," the psychiatrist stated.

She was a civilian, Dean reminded himself. She knew nothing about his life, about the monsters he'd hunted, the people he'd saved, and if he tried to defend himself, she'd keep right on thinking he was insane. "I'm not jealous of Sam," he said evenly. "We're not all meant to be hot-shot lawyers."

"You do seem to be making progress." Dr. Richardson doled out a small, cautious smile. "Sam tells me your father would like to see you. I think if you continue to show improvement, I can approve a visitation."

"And my mother, too?"

She shook her head. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Dean."

* * *

><p><em>Dean…<em>

He turned, startled by the gravelly voice calling his name, but there was no one else in the corridor. Shrugging it off, Dean walked into his room and blinked at the sight of Jimmy Novak seated by the window.

"This isn't your room, Jimmy," Dean said gently, though he doubted the man was aware of his surroundings, or even that he was being spoken to. A shiver ran down his spine as the patient's blue eyes seemed to focus on his face.

_Jump, Dean._

The tall, old-fashioned casement window was open, Dean saw with a jolt of shock, the bars that normally covered it missing, as if they'd never existed. He shut his eyes and scrubbed a hand over his face, but when he opened them the window was still wide open. He could see the courtyard below, red roses blooming in the well-tended flower beds between the pathways, the view unobstructed by iron bars.

_Jump, _ the deep voice commanded.

"Dean? You doing okay there, buddy?"

He turned back to the door, forcing a smile for the orderly. He couldn't let anyone know he was still having hallucinations, Dean thought frantically, but out loud he just said, "Doing great, Mikey. It's just that somebody wheeled Jimmy in here by mistake."

"Huh. Sorry 'bout that, man."

Dean watched the orderly walk across the room to the open window. Mikey showed no reaction, just took hold of the handles on the back of Jimmy Novak's wheelchair and rolled him out of the room. When Dean looked again, the window was closed, the metal bars firmly in place. He lay down on the bed, body tensed in spite of his efforts to relax, to calm the wild beating of his heart. Dean stared blindly at the white acoustic ceiling tiles for a long time, his green eyes as blank as the catatonic Jimmy's blue ones, but thankfully the deep, gravelly voice in his head had gone silent.

* * *

><p><em>Lucifer is the father of lies.<em>

Dean jolted awake. The vivid picture of the tropical flower on the wall seemed washed out, a monochrome painting in shades of gray. Wan, silvery light from the open window bathed the room. Dean could see the full moon shining down on the courtyard below. Jimmy Novak sat there beside the window, slumped in his wheelchair.

_Jump, Dean. Free yourself from this illusion. _

"Stop it." Dean sat up on the edge of the bed and glared at him. Jimmy's eyes stared into his, their usual deep blue faded to gray in the moonlight. "Dude, I don't know what kind of freaky Vulcan mind-meld shit you're cooking up in that scrambled brain of yours, but I am not jumping out any windows." His heart pounded, but the man just sat there, the silvery light shining on the thin trail of drool from the corner of his mouth to his stubbled jaw.

_Jump._

"Keep it up and I'll finish what you started," Dean growled the warning, getting up to grab the wheelchair and push Jimmy out of the room. "I'll bash your freakin' skull in."

"Dean?" The nurse, Annie, stood in the open doorway. She flipped on the light switch and Dean saw with relief that the window was closed. He shoved the wheelchair toward her.

"Sweetheart, you've got to keep this head case out of my room."

* * *

><p>"Dad." Dean had to struggle to hold back the tears when he saw his father waiting for him in the visitor's lounge.<p>

"It's good to see you, son." John Winchester crossed the space between them, yanking Dean hard against his chest as he wrapped his arms tight around him.

Dean clung to him, telling himself over and over that _this_ was real. His father and mother were alive. Sam was doing great as Lucifer's vessel. The world wasn't ending. He just had to believe.

"You look good," John said cautiously when they finally broke apart.

"I'm doing great, Dad," Dean assured him. "No more hallucinations, I promise."

"Let's hope so."

There was an awkward silence. "Sam tells me you're retired," Dean said to break it. "You know, from the, ah, 'family business'."

"The garage is our family business now, Dean." Dean's eyebrows rose and John beamed. "Yeah… Lucifer bought out Guenther, my old partner."

"Well, good for you, Dad." Why not, Dean thought. The man had spent a lifetime hunting the demon that had destroyed their family… Endured a hundred years in hell… John deserved a decent, normal life. "How's Mom? I sure would like to see her."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

"Why does everyone keep saying that? I'm doing better. Hell, Dad, I could come home today. You could probably use some help at the garage—"

"You're not going anywhere, not until Dr. Richardson gives you a clean bill of health," John barked. His father's expression was as stern and unyielding as Dean had ever seen it. "I can't risk it. Not after the things you said to Mary."

"I'm sorry, Dad. Please tell Mom how sorry I am! I don't even know what I said," Dean pleaded.

"Terrible things, Dean. You told her the dead should stay dead, that she would have been better off if Lucifer had never resurrected her, or me. And the things you said about Sam—"

"I didn't mean any of them! I wasn't in my right mind."

"I know. Believe me, if I didn't know how very sick you were, I'd have beat the hell out of you for hurting your mother like that," John growled.

"I'm sorry, sir," Dean said, his voice choked with tears. "But I'm better now," he promised, "no more hallucinations."

"I'm afraid that's not true, Dad," Sam spoke up from the doorway.

"What do you mean, Sammy?" Dean turned on him, willing himself to stay calm, not to show the resentment and fear he felt on seeing his brother dressed in an expensive suit. Not to pose as an FBI agent, nor even because he was some bigshot lawyer now, but because impeccable suits were how Lucifer dressed.

"One of the nurses reported overhearing Dean threaten a patient."

"I can explain. There's this guy, Jimmy. He keeps bugging me, keeps coming in my room. I was just warning him off, is all."

Sam shook his head. "Jimmy Novak is catatonic, essentially braindead. He's harmless."

"You want to explain why you thought you needed to threaten the man, Dean?" his father asked.

Dean couldn't say anything. He couldn't admit to hearing that voice in his head.

"Turn out your pockets," Sam ordered.

"I don't have anything in my—"

"Don't lie to us, Dean." Sam's voice was cold. "Show Dad what you've been sneaking out of the dining room at every meal."

"Dean?"

Dean felt his face heat up, those traitorous, unmanly tears closer than ever to falling. Like a guilty child, he reluctantly pulled the hoarded handfuls of salt packets out of his pockets.

"What did you think you needed protection from, son? Here, of all places?"

"Do you honestly think Lucifer and I would let any harm come to you?" Sam broke in.

John shook his head. "I'm so disappointed in you, Dean. You aren't ever going to get better if you don't cooperate and tell Dr. Richardson and the rest of the staff the truth."

"I don't think he wants to get better, Dad. I'm sorry, but he's failed at everything else he's ever done…I guess these feelings of persecution make Dean feel special. As if he's important enough for someone to go after him."

* * *

><p><em>Jump.<em>

"Shut up, Jimmy." Dean didn't bother to roll over on the bed. He knew what he'd see: Jimmy Novak in his wheelchair beside the open window.

He'd gone back to his room after the horrible visit with his dad. Dean would have liked to have gotten drunk, but of course that wasn't possible, so he just lay on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling… Until the familiar, gravelly voice chimed in.

_Jump, Dean._

"Maybe you're right. Maybe I'd be better off dead," Dean said bitterly.

_Lucifer is the father of lies. _

"Uh-huh. And what you're offering is so much better? Jump out the window and bash my brains out on the pavement like you tried to do?"

_I will not let you fall._

Resigned, Dean sat up and looked over at the window. As expected, it was open and unbarred. Jimmy's blue eyes seemed to bore into Dean's green, tear-filled ones.

_Jump, Dean. Break free._

Dean stood and walked to the window, pausing to run a hand through the spiky halo of Jimmy's hair, making the dark strands stick up in all directions, even messier than before. His fingers brushed the raised line of scar tissue that curved around the side of Jimmy's skull. "Might as well," he said dryly, and stepped up onto the windowsill. "A dead brother won't screw up Sam's political career nearly as bad as a crazy convict brother."

_I will not let you fall, Dean. _

"You're a crazy bastard, Jimmy," Dean scoffed, "but then, so am I." He turned his face up to the blue, cloudless sky and stepped out into the empty air. With a rustle of inky black feathers, Dean soared into the sky.

"...Cas!"

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: JUST A COUPLE MORE CHAPTERS!...Give or take. I am so eager to finish up this story and I apologize for the slow updates but work has been kicking my ASS and I've been too wiped out at night to write. Thanks for bearing with me, everyone, and special thanks to<em> nani'anela, Fallen-Angel-Spirit, MadWithMusic, OneCutePug, Zana Zira, Snailhair101, wisepuma23, Loki's Cheesecake, _and_ Teshka _for taking the time to leave reviews. I should do bizarro plot twists more often, I seem to get more reviews that way! Just kidding! Thanks for reading, everyone._


	25. Chapter 25

"Cas!"

_Welcome back, Dean. _

The familiar gravel of the angel's voice was as dry as ever, but Dean could feel the warmth of Castiel's emotions, pride and relief tinged with a deep sense of resignation. Their skyward spiral was erratic, no longer the smooth, strong, joyous flight he'd always taken for granted when the angel was in control of their shared body, and Dean's view of the moon riding over the harbor was strangely skewed, half in sharp focus and half a blur.

They were bleeding from a dozen or more cuts, Dean realized then. The worst had gouged his right eye out of its socket, leaving the mangled orb dangling on his cheekbone. He assessed the wounds clinically, knowing Cas was shielding him from the pain. Lucifer hadn't spared their wings, either. Dean didn't have to see them to know they'd been battered and torn, many of the essential flight feathers hacked off. Knowing how sensitive angel wings could be, he couldn't begin to imagine the agony Cas was enduring right now.

_I am glad I was able to reach you, Dean. I did not want either of us to have to die alone._

"Nobody's going to die, Cas," Dean growled, defiant. "Not tonight."

"Oh, the little hairless ape is back." Lucifer appeared in Dean's field of vision, his white suit spattered with blood.

Dean would have taunted the archangel about his less-than-pristine appearance if the stains hadn't all been from his own blood. Castiel raised his sword doggedly to parry Lucifer's attack and Dean caught a hint of the angel's pain and exhaustion. It wouldn't be long before Lucifer tired of toying with them. He looked across the clashing, silvery blades to meet the devil's cold, hazel eyes… Sam's eyes, but without a trace of warmth in them, not the slightest glimpse of his brother in sight. What lies was Lucifer telling Sam right now? What illusion was his brother trapped inside?

_Sam..._Dean tapped into a portion of Cas's grace and aimed it—he hoped—directly into his brother's mind, harnessing that angelic power, but with a human voice. _Sammy, I'm here for you. Just fight him, Sam, just for a second, that's all I need. You can do it._

Lucifer's eyes widened and his sword dipped, less than a hair's breadth, but it was enough for Castiel to press his attack, the razor-sharp tip of his blade coming within an inch of Lucifer's shoulder. He parried, but it was urgent, barely in time to stop Castiel's sword from slicing open his blood-stained white jacket, not the negligent swordplay the archangel had been using to toy with the seraph.

The Morning Star recovered almost immediately, raising his blade for a killing blow, but Dean took control from Cas, slipped a knife out of his boot, and stabbed it into the meat of Sam's thigh. Dean saw the devil's face twist in shock and rage, but only for an instant. Then Lucifer's beautiful white wings collapsed in on themselves, ceasing to exist, and Sam plummeted.

Castiel took over, tucking his damaged wings in tight to his body, swooping after Sam as he fell. Dean caught a fleeting glimpse of his brother's dazed hazel eyes and then he was gripping Sam tight, cradling him in his arms as Castiel carried them away with labored beats of his wings. Behind them a piercing, inhuman shriek tore through the night and a hundred billows of black, demonic smoke rose up around the ruins of the hotel as Lucifer's entourage took flight.

"Drive, Mikey!" Dean panted as Cas transported them straight through the roof of the ambulance. Amelia's eyes were wide as he appeared in front of her, dumping Sam unceremoniously on the gurney. He batted her hands away as she moved to help him. "Take care of Sam! Remember, I've got angel mojo," he barked, although just how much of his grace Cas could spare for healing right now, Dean didn't know. He didn't care. Right now, his only concern was for Sam. He dropped down on the long bench seat as Mikey took a corner at high speed and Amelia braced herself, calmly buckling the straps to secure Sam to the gurney.

"Pulse and respiration are steady," she announced, "and this wound on his thigh is minor—"

"Of course it's minor," Dean groused. "I'm a professional. Cas?"

_I am here, Dean._ The angel's voice in his mind was strained. _It will take some time for me to heal our wounds._

"Take all the time you need. You were awesome back there."

Amelia passed him a gauze pad. "Cover your eyes," she said shortly. Lightning flashed and with a deep roll of thunder it started to rain.

The ambulance rocked and swayed as Mikey steered around burnt-out cars and other debris that littered the road out of Boca Raton. Dean could feel the reaction setting in, blood loss and shock mingled with the elation of having his brother back. They weren't out of this yet, he reminded himself, and steeled himself to remain calm and alert in case the Morning Star had a trick up his white linen sleeve. He leaned over and took Sam's hand in his, holding the bandage over his damaged eye with his other hand. "You did it, Sammy. I knew you could. How's he doing, Doc?"

"Stable," Amelia said. "He's been through a lot." She glanced up. "Cover _both_ eyes, Dean. If you keep looking around you're just going to make it worse."

_Humor her, _Cas's voice spoke up in his mind. _Your brother just needs time. _

"Shit," Mikey cursed and the ambulance slowed to a crawl. The rain was coming down in torrents, the rapid slap of the windshield wipers almost drowned out by thunder. "It's coming down so heavy I can't see past the hood," he complained.

"Lucifer's throwing a temper tantrum," Dean said with satisfaction. "Might as well take a break, Mikey."

"Good," Amelia said briskly, coming around the gurney to sit down on the bench next to Dean. "I can't stitch you up while we're swerving all over the road anyway." The veterinarian produced a plastic shield which she taped over his injured eye.

"Hey," Dean protested as she started to wrap layers of gauze bandage over his good eye, too.

"I told you," Amelia said firmly, "if you keep trying to use that eye it's just going to make it worse. And no offense to Cas, but it looks like you're temporarily out of 'mojo'."

Even without his sight, Dean's mind still projected a mental image of Cas sitting next to him. He could feel the trenchcoat-clad body leaning against him, shoulder to shoulder. Dean could sense the angel's exhaustion. Dean had been trapped in Lucifer's illusion for only a few minutes, but inside that illusion it had seemed like weeks, and Cas, he realized now, had suffered every second of his mental absence as a real, physical separation. The angel had been utterly alone as Lucifer had toyed with him, hacking him to pieces bit by bit.

"Yeah, Lucifer drained Cas's battery," he told Amelia wryly as he sent a wave of gratitude and reassurance Cas's way. _You did it, Cas. You held on, got me back… We got Sam back._

* * *

><p>"When's he going to come to, Doc?"<p>

After a nearly 36 hour drive back from Boca Raton, they were in Camp Chitaqua's makeshift infirmary. Dean hadn't left Sam's side for more than a minute, but his brother remained unresponsive.

"I wish I knew." Amelia's expression was worried as she checked Sam's vital signs for what seemed to Dean like the hundredth time.

Dean watched her, trying hard to suppress his own concern as he waited impatiently. Cas had recovered, healing their wounds, but, like the veterinarian, he couldn't offer a reason for Sam's condition.

"Cas? A little help, here?" In spite of his resolve, Dean's voice was hoarse with worry. He felt the angel extend his senses and tried to follow along. "You've got to figure out what's wrong with him!"

_There is something I can try, but it will be very painful for Sam,_ Cas warned, taking control and releasing Sam's hand from Dean's grasp. He laid Dean's hand on Sam's chest.

Dean jerked in surprise as his hand sank through Sam's rib cage and _into_ his brother's chest, but Castiel was already pulling back, recoiling from whatever he had just discovered.

"What is that?" Dean could feel the angel's distress, his nausea and disgust. If he concentrated hard enough, he could feel something oily coating his fingertips.

_Lucifer's grace, _Cas said. _He left a portion of it inside Sam. Dean, it's... It's poison. And it's wrapped around his soul. _

In his mind's eye Dean saw the angel standing next to him at Sam's bedside. Castiel's face was even paler than usual, his forehead beaded with sweat. "Well, get it out of him," he demanded.

Castiel reached into Sam's chest again, but the motion was tentative, and he flinched away when Sam's body bucked against the invasion. Sam let out a low moan of pain.

"Come on, Cas!"

_I can't, Dean._ Castiel's face was twisted with horror and revulsion. _The grace… It's foul, toxic from Lucifer's eons of rebellion. I can't bear to touch it—can't extract it without hurting Sam._

"Then help me do it." Dean reached out mentally, extending his senses into Castiel's much greater consciousness. He placed his hand on Sam's chest, letting it sink beneath the skin and muscle until his fingers brushed against something warm and fragile yet resilient, too. It clung to his fingers like cobweb. "Is that..?"

_Your brother's soul_, Castiel told him.

Sam thrashed weakly, his breath coming in thready gasps, and Dean ran his fingers quickly over the gossamer of Sam's soul, his stomach giving a protesting lurch as they brushed against the tainted grace wrapped around it. It was oily, slipping through his fingers when he tried to grasp it, making his stomach churn and his muscles clench in disgust at the foul taint of it.

"I've got this," he reassured Castiel. "Time to take out the trash." It was as if his every memory of hell had been concentrated, distilled into one vile essence. Dean felt bile rise in his throat and a rush of saliva flooded his mouth, making him gag as he tugged the toxic grace loose. Amelia, who had been watching the proceedings in disbelief, ran to grab a basin, no doubt expecting him to throw up at any second. Dean wasn't so sure he wouldn't do just that. Beside him, his mental projection of Cas looked positively green. Finally he got the slimy substance wrapped around his fingers and pulled his hand free of Sam's chest. His brother fell back on the bed, gasping, but in a moment his breathing seemed to ease.

"What do I do with it?" Dean asked helplessly. He envisioned Castiel standing next to him, looking absolutely sickened by the handful of foul muck, but the angel resolutely reached for it with two fingers outstretched. With a blaze of white light, Castiel incinerated Lucifer's tainted grace with the light and heat of his own, pure celestial power. Dean sagged against the hospital bed rail, taking careful, shallow breaths until the urge to vomit passed.

_He is resting easily now,_ Castiel told him.

"He can rest after the reunion. Come on, Sammy, rise and shine." Too impatient to accept another minute's delay, Dean ruffled his brother's hair and patted his cheek, trying to rouse him.

Hazel eyes blinked open sleepily, then widened in recognition. "Dea'?" Sam slurred.

Dean felt his own eyes fill with tears. They'd really done it. They'd gotten his brother back. He leaned over the railing and pulled Sam into a fierce hug. "Yeah, it's really me, Sam. You did it! You kicked the bastard out."

Sam laid an arm clumsily over his shoulders, a gesture that could have been either an attempt to return Dean's hug or to push him away. When Dean let him go, easing him back onto the pillows, he saw that one corner of Sam's mouth turned down, slack, and one of his eyelids drooped. He was about to question Amelia about it when Castiel spoke up in his mind.

_He is doing remarkably well, all things considered. Remember Donnie Finnerman._

"Donnie Finnerman?" Dean shook his head. "Should I remember Donnie Finnerman?"

_Raphael's vessel,_ Castiel supplied. _Raphael left him in a catatonic state when—_

"You're not m' brother!" Sam broke in, wild-eyed.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean was quick to reassure him. "It's just Cas—"

"No!" Sam pulled away, one hand fumbling at his side as if searching for a weapon.

"It's not like you think," Dean tried to explain. "Cas and I—"

"No!"

Amelia stepped in from the other side of the bed, laying a reassuring hand on Sam's arm. "You're safe here, Sam. No one is going to hurt you," she said calmly.

Dean remembered the time he'd spent as a mental patient in Lucifer's illusory sanitarium, his fear and mistrust whenever Sam had visited him with the archangel Lucifer sharing his body. He could imagine all too clearly how Sam must feel at this moment, knowing his brother was now Castiel's vessel.

_Cas, you're going to have to vacate for a while,_ he told the angel silently.

_He just needs time to recover_, Castiel argued. _He'll calm down and listen to reason once he's rested. _

Dean could sense Cas's hurt, but ignored it, reasoning that his brother was hurting worse. _I just need some time alone with Sam._

_...Of course. Your brother comes first. _With an aggrieved rustle of feathers, Castiel was gone.

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: I am just blown away by the kind words of my reviewers. You are all the best and I can't thank you enough. Heartfelt thanks to <em>OneCutePug, RunYouCleverBoyAndRememberMe, Snailhair101, nanianela, Zana Zira, Fallen-Angel-Spirit, MadWithMusic, Samey Winchester, _and_ wisepuma23. _ Seriously, I appreciate you all so very much._

_One more bombastic chapter (because, yanno, it's not a good idea to hurt the tender feelings of the angel who's just risked his life for your big dumb moose of a brother, LOL) and this fic is finished. I will post a teaser for the sequel immediately after because I'm a masochist like that. (Tentative title Dean, Cas, and Sam are Awesome and Save the World so PLEASE feel free to suggest something less lame... Anything will be less lame.) Long weekend thanks to Memorial Day and my dentist appointment tomorrow, so if this root canal doesn't kill me expect an update soon. MWAH!_


	26. Chapter 26

Sam was resting again when Dean left the log cabin that served as Camp Chitaqua's infirmary. Dean couldn't be sure if his brother had fallen asleep or had simply closed his eyes to end their awkward efforts at conversation. Sam clearly found speech difficult, slurring the few words Dean had coaxed out of him. Cas would heal him from the lingering after-effects of being Lucifer's vessel, he thought, whether Sam liked it or not. Dean could understand his brother's current mistrust of angels, but Sammy would just have to get over it.

He felt very alone as he walked along the path between the trees, slightly surprised Cas hadn't rejoined him as soon as he'd left the cabin. _Cas?_ Dean called. _Hey, Cas, I got Sam calmed down. You can come on back, now, any time. _

No answer. _Cas? Everything okay? _Had the angel discovered some danger, some threat to the little community of survivors? Doubtful, as the day was a typical cool, sunny autumn day, no unseasonal thunderstorms, no demonic omens. Birds chirped in the trees and people went about their business. ...And no response from Castiel. If there really was trouble, Cas wouldn't hesitate to let him know.

Dean recalled the flash of hurt he'd felt from the angel just before he'd left. "Son of a bitch," he muttered. It was starting to look like Castiel had taken the brief separation more seriously than Dean had intended. _Come on, Cas, _ he tried again. _Don't be like that…Dammit, Cas, it was, what? Ten, fifteen minutes? _

"Uh-oh."

He'd walked to the clearing at the center of the camp while trying to contact Castiel. Dean glared at Kevin Tran. "What?" he asked, belligerent.

The young prophet's cheeks flushed but he stood his ground. "I can't help it that I can overhear you and Cas. It's not like I try to listen in. If you're close by it's just like you two are talking out loud." His eyebrows arched and he gave the hunter a look that mingled sympathy and amusement. "But right now it's just you. Oh, man, you must have really pissed Cas off this time!"

"What about Cas? Did he say something to you?" It would be annoying, he thought, if it turned out Kevin could understand Cas's true voice.

"He hasn't said anything to me,"—Kevin shook his head vehemently— "and I hope he doesn't. Trust me, I don't want to get involved in your domestic disputes."

Dean scoffed and kept walking, but his conversation with Kevin had attracted unwelcome attention.

"Cas, I need to speak with you for a moment."

Dean glared at the woman as she hurried over. "Not now, Erin, we're busy," he said, and sped up. Cas's former groupie broke into a jog and kept pace with him, undeterred.

"I don't want to talk to you, Dean. Since when do you speak for Cas? If he's too busy to talk, that's fine, but he can tell me himself." She laid a hand on Dean's arm.

"I told you, Cas is busy right now," he said, yanking his arm out of her grasp, but Erin stepped in front of him, squaring off.

"Then let him say so!" Her eyes narrowed. "I heard that prophet kid say you must have pissed him off...Wait. I know what's going on here! You're not his vessel any more," she said eagerly.

"I'm still his vessel," Dean said, affronted. _Cas? This isn't funny, dammit! _ "This is just temporary," he tried to tell Erin, but she was already hurrying away. As Dean watched, she dropped down under a nearby tree, folding her slim body into a lotus position.

"Hey!" Dean strode after her and stood glaring down at her as she began a soft, musical chanting. "Find your own angel," he growled. "I told you, Cas is mine."

Erin sniffed. "Maybe not for long. You're clearly unworthy of him," she retorted, dismissing him.

Dean scowled, but Erin ignored him, eyes closed, chanting serenely. With a huff of annoyance, he strode back across the clearing, choosing a tree of his own to lean against while he prayed in earnest. _Okay, Cas, she's right. I'm not worthy. I admit it, that was a dick move asking you to leave and I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Cas. Come back… Please._

Nothing. The realization slammed into him, then, just how very alone he truly was with Castiel gone. Sure, he'd complained about being Cas's vessel, about the lack of privacy and the toll sharing a body with a stick-up-the-ass, socially awkward, genderless wavelength of celestial intent had taken on his sex life, but those issues seemed petty now. Dean felt bereft, abandoned. Just like Cas must have felt when Dean had told him to leave. Dean resisted the urge to slap his own forehead for his stupidity. Cas, who'd first saved him, then risked his life to help save his brother, and he'd kicked him out without a second thought.

He'd started walking again, moving aimlessly once it became obvious Cas wasn't going to come rushing back to answer his prayer. Dean looked around, getting his bearings, and began to climb the trail that led out of the camp and up the side of the mountain, up to where Cas had taught him how to fly. He couldn't reach the circular arena—that only existed somewhere within the vast domain of Cas's consciousness, but he could climb to the top of the mountain. Somehow, it seemed fitting to seek the angel on the highest point he could get to.

* * *

><p>An hour into the climb, and Dean was more aware than ever of how much he'd taken Castiel for granted. As Castiel's vessel, he'd gotten used to relying on the angel's grace to sustain him, with no need for food, water, or sleep. Now, he was hot, sweaty, tired, thirsty, and acutely aware that he hadn't eaten anything since Boca Raton. Dean drew a small flask out of a pocket of his jacket and rationed himself a sip of holy water. Stubborn, he kept climbing, doggedly putting one foot in front of the other on the steep mountain trail, turning the hike into a pilgrimage, an act of atonement. He was going to get Cas back, damn it.<p>

The sun was setting as Dean finally reached the summit. His throat was dry and his head ached fiercely as he dropped to his knees. "Cas!" he yelled his prayer in a voice roughened with fatigue and dehydration. "Cas, come back. Weird as it sounds, I miss you. I-I need you, man. Hell, Cas, you need me, too. Come on back and let's work this out."

The breeze picked up and eddied around him, kicking up a scattering of dust and pine needles as it grew stronger.

"Cas!"

The breeze turned into a whirlwind, pelting him with twigs, more pine needles, dirt, and pebbles. Blinking rapidly, Dean finally had to close his eyes against the flying debris.

"Cas, I'm telling you yes. You've got my consent, now come on back! Yes, dammit!"

The wind increased and a loud scream echoed through the wilderness, rising in pitch and volume, battering at his ears until Dean reflexively clamped his hands over them to try and shut it out. A pine branch slashed his forehead as it whirled past.

_I can't understand your true voice,_ Dean reminded the angel. _You're pissed off. I get it. I deserve it. Yell all you want._ He dropped his hands to his sides, wincing at the pain of the piercing shriek that was Castiel's true voice to his human ears, but resigning himself to it. _I can guess what you're saying, Cas, but if you really want to bitch me out you're going to have to take me back. Yes, Cas! I'm telling you, yes!_

The inhuman scream continued for several long seconds more, accompanied by the wind roaring through the trees, flaying Dean's exposed skin. Then it all stopped.

_I am here, Dean. _

The warm trickle of blood running down from the cut on his forehead stopped instantly, the hurt from the minor wound gone along with the painful ringing of his ears. Dean's hunger and thirst were instantly gone, too. He felt well-rested and refreshed, but more importantly, that lonely feeling of emptiness and loss was over.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, feeling the need to say it again now that the angel was back where he belonged. "I took you for granted. Cas, all I can do is keep on being sorry."

_I disagree, _ Castiel intoned. _There is no need. I have already forgiven you completely._

Dean felt a rush of emotion and almost fell over at the onslaught of Cas's feelings. "Cas? You okay?"

There was a rustle of feathers and Dean found himself in an apple orchard. Cas's orchard, he realized with a grin, recalling the blossom-drenched landscape where he and the angel had first shared a 'mutually acceptable physical outlet', as Cas had put it. This time the orchard was in tune with the current season, every tree laden with ripe, red apples. Dean could see the sun setting through the trees in a gaudy display of oranges and purples. The air was crisp and cool.

Castiel materialized beside him on the rustic seating provided by a couple of conveniently placed hay bales, achingly familiar in his rumpled trench coat, blue silk tie askew as usual.

Dean turned to face him, giving in to the overwhelming impulse to reach out and run his fingers through the angel's hair. "I didn't tell you how awesome you were, battling Lucifer. You were totally badass." Dean grinned. "I could kiss you right now."

Blue eyes blinked thoughtfully as Castiel considered. After a moment, he nodded solemnly. "You should."

He had to suppress a chuckle as the angel closed his eyes and leaned forward expectantly, lips puckered. "Anything you want, Cas." Dean closed the space between them, meeting Cas's lips softly, taking it slow, letting himself sink into the giddy swirl of Cas's emotions.

_You hurt my feelings,_ Castiel spoke up in his mind without breaking the kiss.

_Uh-huh_, Dean acknowledged, feeling Cas's confusion as if it was his own, knowing he wasn't trying to guilt-trip him. Cas had already accepted his apology. Now he was trying to work out the meaning of the baffling human emotion Dean's rejection had instilled in him. He traced the plush contour of Cas's lower lip with the tip of his tongue as he waited, smiling against Cas's mouth as Cas took the hint and parted his lips.

_You offered a pragmatic solution to Sam's irrational response to my presence,_ Cas went on. _It was a sensible course of action, with no ill intent on your part, and yet, when you told me to leave I felt... _

_Abandoned? _ Dean offered. He shifted, straddling the hay bale so he could pull Cas closer until the angel was practically sitting in his lap as they kissed.

_Desolate. Worse than falling, _Castiel said, returning his embrace with enthusiasm.

In an instant Dean felt his shirt disappear. Cas's multiple layers, too, he realized with delight as he felt the warm, smooth skin of the angel's shoulder blades beneath his palms.

_Dean, when we first met I cared for you as I would for any human being, as one of my Father's favorite creations. Then my attachment to you became personal… I imagine it was similar to the way a human might feel for a favorite pet._

"Thanks, Cas," Dean chuckled. He pulled back, knowing the angel wouldn't stop the analysis until he'd figured things out. For both of them. The seraph had a brain more powerful than any supercomputer, but he was working through his emotions at a human pace so Dean could follow along. He chuckled again ruefully. Cas could multitask like nobody's business. Dean had no doubt he could think deep thoughts and achieve 'metaphysical union' simultaneously. Dean wasn't as dumb as he pretended to be, but deep thoughts and sex didn't mix in his book. He tousled Cas's hair again, willing himself to be patient. "There's a point to this, right?"

Castiel nodded, utterly serious. "It was my conditioning as a member of the heavenly host that made me think of you as an inferior," he said, "but I overcame that prejudice and we became friends. Brothers in arms. That is why I was willing to die for you, Dean, in Kansas City and in Boca Raton. And if our situations were reversed," he went on, "I know that you would be willing to die for me, too."

"Aw, Cas." Dean traced the line of Cas's stubbled jaw with his fingertips. Touched by the angel's declaration, he felt a lump form in his throat. He pulled Cas back in and kissed him deeply. _Yeah, I'd die for you, too. In a heartbeat, Cas._

_Then I took you as my vessel—_

_Nuh-uh. I took _you _as my angel_, Dean corrected, pushing his tongue into Cas's mouth.

Castiel pushed back, battling him briefly for control before giving in with a low moan of pleasure that sent a shiver down Dean's spine. _And now we have become what are, I believe, referred to as 'friends with benefits'._

_Sounds about right to me. _

_No, Dean, it's not enough. I feel more for you than any of that. _

_Cas, no. I can't—_

_I love you. _

It was too much, Dean thought wildly as the emotion crashed into him. Cas's declaration of love was like celestial fire, dazzling and white-hot. It filled him, surrounded him, threatened to roll over and sweep him away.

_You're clearly unworthy of him_, Erin's words came back to him.

_You're not special. You'll never have the bond Lucifer and I share..._ Sam's words from Lucifer's illusion. He could cling to those words, Dean knew. Embrace them instead of Cas and escape from the overwhelming emotional tidal wave of the angel's love.

_Jump, Dean. _Cas's words, saving him from the illusion Lucifer had trapped him in. _I will never let you fall. _

Dean let himself go, made himself accept the rush of feeling. He sank into it, letting that searing fire sing through his veins, filling him until he thought his heart would burst. _I love you, too, _ he prayed, and felt the angel's joy soar in response.

"I love you, Cas," Dean rasped out past the lump in his throat, wanting to say the words out loud, if only once. Dean felt a feather-light touch against his cheeks, brushing away his tears, and opened his eyes to find Castiel with his wings unfurled in all their glory, lighting up the twilight orchard with their celestial glow.

Dean reached up and ran his fingers through the silky feathers, grinning as the angel shivered with desire at the light, teasing touch. "Does this mean we still get to be friends with benefits?"

_I could be persuaded to give my consent for that, _Castiel deadpanned.

"Then say yes." Dean sank his fingers deep into Cas's feathers as he leaned in and kissed him.

_...Oh, yes, Dean. Yes._

"Hell, yes." Dean opened his wings, the glossy black feathers reflecting Cas's wings' own luminous glow, and they took off, spiraling up into the night sky.

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: Whew, it's finished! I hope not too emo and sappy for this last chapter. Let me know because I struggle with writing romance. (My husband once bought me a vacuum cleaner for Valentine's Day... And I loved it. I am about as romantic as a plate of liver and onions.) <em>

_One last time, I want to thank all of my wonderful reviewers, especially_ OneCutePug, nani'anela, Loki's Cheesecake, Zana Zira, Irreality, Fallen-Angel-Spirit, MadWithMusic, Snailhair101, Cerulea, RunYouCleverBoyAndRememberMe, _and_ wisepuma23 _for the very kind reviews of chapter 25. _

_It's become my custom to eventually go back and edit out all my extraneous author's notes and just do one huge thank you at the end to everyone who took the time and trouble to support a work in progress by reviewing, so if you haven't dropped a line yet and would like to see your user name immortalized in print, now's your big chance. Thanks also to everyone who followed and favorite-ed! Stay tuned for a teaser chapter for the sequel and thanks so much for reading, y'all!_


	27. Chapter 27

"I'm sorry, Dean. Sam doesn't want to see you just yet." Amelia Richardson stood facing him on the flagstone porch of Camp Chitaqua's infirmary, huddled in an oversized cardigan sweater against the late October cold.

"You said that yesterday," Dean pointed out, his anger rising, "and the day before that, and every goddamn day since Sam woke up."

"I'm sorry—"

"You keep saying that, too," he cut in. "Let me tell you something, sweetheart, I'm running out of patience with 'I'm sorry'."

"Dean. I'm just following Sam's wishes. I'm not the enemy here."

Her brown eyes were sympathetic. Thanks to Cas's angelic perceptions, Dean could feel the sincerity of her words, but that only angered him more. His fists clenched. He didn't want her sympathy. He wanted Sam.

_Dean, _ Castiel spoke up in his head, concerned.

_Not now, Cas. _"You're the enemy from where I'm standing," he told Amelia, "seeing as you're the one keeping me from my brother." Dean folded his arms across his chest, telegraphing belligerence toward the much smaller woman, who lifted her chin defiantly. "Here's the thing. You're, what? One hundred pounds, maybe one-ten soaking wet? You really think you can stop me from just walking in that door?"

She shrugged. "Sure, you can shove me out of the way and barge on in. Force him to do things your way, but you know what that will accomplish?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "No, but I'm sure you're going to enlighten me."

"All that's going to do is show Sam you're just like Lucifer."

"What the hell? Is that what he's been telling you?" Dean shook his head, deflating a bit as anger turned to confusion. "This grudge he's got against Castiel has got to stop."

"It's really got nothing to do with Castiel—" Amelia began.

"Then what is it? No, you know what, never mind." Dean held up a hand, silencing anything the veterinarian might have said. "I'll just talk to Sam and straighten this whole thing out myself." He took a step forward.

Amelia put her back up against the door, blocking his path. "Great idea. Just do whatever the hell you want without any regard for how Sam feels about it," she spat, sarcastic. "Just like Lucifer."

He reeled back, torn between rage and hurt. Dean felt Castiel in the back of his mind. The angel was holding himself in check, resolutely refraining from any interference. "Why would he think that?" he demanded of Amelia. "Did you tell him I was—"

"Of course not." Amelia laid a hand on Dean's arm. "Stop the macho posturing and let's go someplace and talk," she suggested.

Reluctantly, he let her lead him to a group of picnic tables under the shelter of a pavilion. Indian Summer had departed Camp Chitaqua along with sunshine and blue skies. The little community of survivors, originally a summer camp, had taken on a desolate air with the onset of fall. Dismal rains and biting cold had already started to take a toll on morale. They'd won a major battle against Lucifer in depriving him of his chosen vessel, but the country was still caught in the grip of the demonic Croatoan virus... And Sam had refused to even see Dean since his rescue, making the hard-won victory seem hollow.

Amelia took a seat on one of the picnic benches and Dean warily sat down across from her. "Why won't he see me?" he asked, his voice coming out far more unsure and pleading than he'd intended.

Amelia sighed. "I don't know as it's so much that he doesn't want to see you. More like Sam's afraid for you to see him. He doesn't want to be pitied."

"I don't. That's ridiculous," Dean scoffed. "Look, I know the guy's been through a lot—"

"Do you really? For five years, Sam had no control over _anything_. The devil didn't just control his body. Mind games, that's how Lucifer entertained himself whenever his supply of demons or humans to torture ran low. Sam couldn't escape for a second, not even inside his own skull."

Bile rose in Dean's throat as he remembered his battle with the Father of Lies. The way Lucifer had humiliated him, stripped him of all sense of himself in the hallucination of the psych ward. He'd been trapped for weeks inside that mind game, when outside, in reality, only a few seconds had passed. Lucifer had had total control of Sam for five_ years_, an eternity of hell that Dean had abandoned him to. Dean felt heat behind his eyelids, a warning of tears gathering, and focused on his frustration and anger to hold them at bay.

"Sam told you all that? When he won't even give me the time of day?"

"He doesn't tell me anything," Amelia said gently.

"Then how—"

"The nightmares. I'm kind of amazed the whole camp doesn't know." She let out a weary, humorless chuckle. "Four, five nights a week, Sam screams loud enough to rattle the windows. He mutters things in his sleep every night, yells out…After a while, it starts to paint a pretty vivid picture."

_It's true_, Castiel spoke up inside Dean's mind. _Sam's nightmares... I shield the rest of the camp from them._

_I run this damn camp, Cas! _Dean felt betrayed and made sure Cas knew it, sending a blast of hurt and annoyance that bounced harmlessly off the angel's imperturbable grace._ He's my brother, damn it. You should have let me know. _

_You did not immediately share your experiences with Sam when you returned from hell, _Cas replied, and Dean had to suppress an involuntary shudder as memories of the white-eyed demon Alastair and his torture rack flooded his mind. _ There are still many things about your time in the pit that you refuse to talk to anyone about, even me. Sam deserves the same consideration. _

_And I deserve the chance to at least argue with you about it before you just go off and decide to set up some sort of angelic sound-proof booth around the infirmary,_ Dean groused. He shifted his attention back to the pavilion, where the veterinarian sat eyeing him quizzically. His silent, internal conflicts with the angel who coexisted in his body got a lot of looks like that, Dean thought dryly. "I want to see Sam."

"You want," she mocked. "What about what he wants?"

"Talk to him, then," Dean insisted. "Talk him out of this bullshit he's dreamed up. Tell him I don't pity him."

"But you do," Amelia said softly. "I see it in your eyes. And Sam will, too."

"Sweetheart, I spent four months in hell. That's forty years by human standards, and I had hell's chief torturer riding my ass, figuratively and literally, for thirty of those years," Dean growled, the memories Cas had stirred up fresh in his mind. "I think I can feel a little sympathy for whatever Sam's been through."

Amelia shook her head. "The difference is, you walked out of hell. It's taken Sam all this time just to be able to walk the length of the infirmary with a cane and Mikey at his side to help him keep his balance."

"I don't care about that," Dean began, impatient, but Amelia cut him off.

"You might not care, but Sam does. How many times do I have to explain? This is about Sam, not you."

"So somehow you're qualified to be the freakin' expert on my brother? You were a civilian before Croatoan went down, an animal doctor. Hell, the scariest thing you ever met on the job was probably a Yorkie with a bad case of fleas," Dean scoffed. "You can't begin to understand what he's been through."

Amelia shifted, pulling her sweater tighter around across her chest, turning to gaze out at the dark pine woods surrounding the clearing. "You know, Croats weren't the only monsters that came to town when civilization fell apart," she said with quiet composure.

Dean frowned as he caught on to what she was implying. Another unwanted memory surfaced, Alastair pressed up against his back, crooning love songs into his ear as he sliced into his flesh. He felt an unexpected flare of rage from Castiel as the angel witnessed the deeply suppressed memory, but ignored it, focusing his attention on Amelia. "I'm sorry," he said gruffly.

She turned back to face him, her smile a false, brittle thing. "...And there it is. Pity. And you wonder why I don't want you to waltz in and look at Sam like that," she scoffed. "He deserves better."

Dean leaned across the table, bringing his face close to hers, looking directly into her eyes. "You're confusing pity with basic human compassion, sweetheart. So you've survived some terrible shit. Doesn't make you less. Hell, in my book that makes you more. And the same for Sam," Dean said. He sat back and paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "You ever meet an archangel's vessel? Besides Sam, I mean?"

Amelia shook her head.

"I have. Raphael's vessel. Poor bastard was brain-dead after just a couple of months. So my brother's having a little trouble walking straight after five freakin' _years_ of hosting Lucifer, and you think I'll pity him because of that? Sweetheart, I don't care if he wets the damn bed and sucks his liquor out of a sippy cup, he's my freakin' hero. You tell him that from me."

"I'll try." Her expression had softened. She reached for his hand, folding her own smaller one over his rough, callused fingers. "It might be a while, still, before he's ready to listen. Be patient?"

"I'll try." Dean gave Amelia's hand an answering squeeze. A peace offering...Of sorts. "Don't make me wait too long." He stood up and walked out of the pavilion.

* * *

><p><em>Author's note: I hope you enjoyed, or are at least intrigued, by this preview of the sequel to <span>Winging It.<span> Sam and Dean are reunited, but as usual for the Winchester brothers, there's unresolved issues aplenty, and they've still got Lucifer to stop. So what's going to happen in the sequel, you ask? For starters, the dead will rise again, and I'm not just talking the usual Croatoan zombies. Brace yourselves for the Four Horsemen with a twist. You know I wouldn't make you sit through a mere rehash of season five! Kevin Tran will have more prophecies, Cas and Dean will celebrate their first Christmas together, the Impala will get rescued from that overgrown ditch, and Sam will have a fling with... Amelia? Yeah, yeah, I know everyone hated her in season eight, but give her a chance, all right? The story will remain primarily focused on Destiel, but I promise the Sam/Amelia sideline won't be nearly as pointlessly emo and annoying as it was in canon, and I'll give the veterinarian some better pick-up lines. No calling our darling Sammy creepy! Plus much, much more, but you'll have to read to find out. Thank you all for your support of Winging It! _


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